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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



Chap Copyright M 

SliellJB'R V?u.5" 
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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 

l°too 



EVEN AS YOU AND I 



BY BOLTON HALL 

THINGS AS THEY ARE 

TVith an introduction by 
GEORGE D. HERRON 



Cloth ^ ornamentaly gilt top, $1.2^ 

Small, Maynard & Company 
publishers, boston 



EVEN 
AS YOU AND I 

PARABLES 
TRUE LIFE 

BY / 

BOLTON HALL 




Boston 

Small, Maynard & Company 

1900 



^ 



Copyright^ l8gj^ by y\*^ 
F. Tennyson Neely \\b^ 

Copyright^ igoo^ by 
Small^ Maynard & Company 

( Incorporated) 



Entered at Stationers'* Hall 

sues ■ * 



Library of Congress 

Two Copies Receivfo 
NOV 27 1900 

Copyngni entry 

SLCOfyro copy 

Od»V«<t:Hi to 

ORDER DIVISION 

NOV 28 1900 



Press of 
George H. Ellis ^ Boston^ U.S.J. 



As enlarged and many times revised ^ this book is 
affectionately dedicated to the fenv to ^whom it is 
gi'ven to guide, if not to lead, into the paths of 
Righteousness that restless social host, nvhich, if it 
further stray, must drag '^ith it, to irremediable 
ruin, everything that is njuorth halving. 



THE AUTHOR'S PURPOSE. 

This hook is an attempt to express in 
simple and clear form the fundamental 
doctrines of eartlUs great teachers. 
These doctrines are of one piece. The 
parables hut illustrate its various aspects^ 
and can develop only what is already in 
the reader. If the reader apply the 
teaching to his neighbor only^ the hook 
may amuse him^ hut it will not help him. 
' The account of Tolstoy^s philosophy 
is taken mostly from his difficult work^ 
"Of LifeJ^ Not knowing Russian^ the 
author has had to he content with the 
French version hy Mme. Tolstoy and 
MM. Tostevin^ and the English trans- 
lation hy Isabel F. Hapgood. 



What Thomas a Kempis has shown 
in the light of Religion^ what Drummond 
has shown in the light of Humanity^ 
Tolstoy shows in the light of Nature. 
He shows that the golden rule does not 
^'•presuppose its own fulfillment^^ but 
that it fulfills itself and is, consequently ^ 
practical here and now. This it is that 
makes Tolstoy accept the economic theory 
of Henry Greorge, 

It will be noticed that Tolstoy does not 
distinguish between the mental and the 
spiritual development in man, so that 
some of his teachiftgs found here may 
seem impracticable counsels of perfection, 
still there is no one that will not get good 
in his or her own life from considering 
such a teacher^s views of the realities of 
life and its true object ; and how Happi- 
ness may be found upon earth. 

Some of the parables have been pub- 



lisJied from time to time in " Collier^ s 
WeeUy^' ''The Voice,'' "The Arena;' 
^'The Outlook;' and other reform papers. 



CONTENTS. 



Part L 



PARABLES. 

PAGE 

I. The Learned Teacher 13 

Concerning Methods of Teaching. 

II. The Perfected Man 15 

The Nature of Man. 

III. The Stones of Charity 17 

Patching. 

IV. The Ascent of Man 20 

The Growth of the Spirit. 

V. The Captains of Industry 21 

Misleaders 

VI. The Charitable Man 25 

The Natural Method. 

VII. Columbus I., Land Owner 27 

Shutting up the Storehouse. 

VIII. The Ship of State 35 

Stopped Short of the Kingdom. 

IX. The Earth Hath he Given for an Inheritance, 40 
Appropriation of Nature's Gifts. 

X. The Troubled Water 43 

A Wheel in the Machine. 

xi 



PAGE 

XI. A Revised Version 45 

The Reduction to Slavery. 

XII. ''How the Other Half Live " (upon Us) . 47 
A Dream of Tame Bees. 

XIII. The Plan of the Universe 51 

Points of View. 

XIV. Doing the Next Thing ; or, The " Practi- 

cal" Reformer 52 

Make Shifts. 

XV. An Unpractical Politician 54 

Raising a Standard. 

XVI. The Walks of Life 57 

Things as They Are. 

XVII. The Tree of Equity 71 

Wrong Remedies. 

XVIII. Because They Were Asses 73 

The Unminding Millions. 

y/ XIX. How the Doctors at Last Agreed ... 78 
Society Saviours. 

XX. 1776 to 1897 81 

A Change of Masters. 

XXI. A Nineteenth Century Samaritan .... 83 
Organized Charity. 

XXII. A Social Arrangement 86 

Modern Political Economy. 

XXIIL The Fire 92 

Their Works do Follow Them. 

XXIV. Labor's Journey 94 

A Cure All. 

XXV. A Sacrament of Deceit 100 

Expediency. 

xii 



PAGE 

XXVI. A Cure for Conscience 102 

The Ideal Made Real. 

XXVII. The Deserving Horses 107 

A Simple Solution. 

XXVIII. The Fruits of Wrongs 114 

The Harvest We Sow. 

XXIX. A Divided Inheritance 119 

The Pre-empted Kingdom. 

XXX. All Very Good 125 

The Sweet Uses of Perversity. 

XXXI The Kingdom at Hand 130 

The Deliverer. 

XXXII. The Reverend Heavenly Holmes on Sin . 137 
The Gospel according to Mammon. 

XXXIII. Tolstoy's Ideal of Life 144 

Inevitable Success. 



Part IL 



TRUE LIFE. 

PAGE 

1. False Ideas of Life 149 

II. The Law of Life 165 

III. The Higher Life 181 

IV. How to Attain It 192 

V. The Effect upon One's Self 212 

VI. The Triumph of Life 242 



INTRODUCTION. 



Ernest H. Crosby says Tolstoy 
thinks that "most men lead only an 
animal life, and among these are always 
some who try to teach the meaning of 
life, without understanding it them- 
selves. To understand life, we should 
begin our researches with that which 
alone we know with certainty, and that 
is the ' I ' within us. 

" Man's body changes. His states of 
consciousness change. What, then, is 
the ' I ' ? Any child can answer when 
he says: 'I like this. I don't like 
that.' The 'I' is that which likes, 
which loves. It is the relationship of 
1 



a man's being with the world, that rela* 
tion which he brings with him from 
beyond time and space. 

"Life is what I feel in myself, and 
this life science cannot define. Nay, it 
is my idea of life which determines 
what I am to consider as science ; and 
I learn all outside of myself solely 
through knowledge of my own mind 
and body. We know, from within, that 
man lives only for happiness, and his 
aspiration toward happiness and the 
pursuit of it constitute his life. At 
first he knows the life in himself alone, 
and hence he imagines that the good 
which he seeks must be his own indi- 
vidual good. His own life seems the 
real life, while he regards the life of 
others as a mere phantom. He soon 
finds that other men take the same 
view of the world, and that the life in 



which he shares is composed of a vast 
number of individuals, each bent on 
securing its own welfare, and conse- 
quently thwarting and destroying others. 
He sees that for him to contend in such 
a struggle is almost hopeless, for all 
mankind is against him. If he does by 
chance succeed in carrying out his plans 
for happiness, he does not even then 
enjoy the prize he anticipated. The 
older he grows, the rarer become the 
pleasures; satiety, trouble, and suffer- 
ing increase; and before him lie old 
age, infirmity, and death. He will go 
down to the grave, but the world will 
continue to live. 

"The good of the individual is an 
imposture, and if it could be obtained 
it would cease at death. The life of 
man as an individual seeking his own 
good, in the midst of an infinite host of 
3 



like individuals engaged in bringing one 
another to naught, and being themselves 
annihilated in the end, is an evil and an 
absurdity. It cannot be the true life, 

" The quandary arises from looking 
upon this animal life as the real life. 
The real life is the life outside our- 
selves; and our own life, which origi- 
nally appeared to us the one thing of 
importance, is after all a deception. 
Our real life begins with the waking of 
our consciousness to perceive that life, 
lived for self, cannot produce happiness. 
We feel that there must be some other 
good. We make an effort to find it, 
but, faiUng, we fall back into our old 
ways. These are the first throes of the 
birth of the veritable human life. 

"This new life appears only when 
man renounces the welfare of his ani- 
mal person as his aim. By so doing 
4 



he fulfills the law of reason, the law 
which we all feel within, the same uni- 
versal law which governs the nutrition 
and reproduction of beast and plant. 
Our real life is our willing submission 
to this law, and not, as false science 
would have us hold, the involuntary 
subjection of our bodies to the laws of 
physical existence. Self-renunciation is 
as natural to man as it is natural for 
birds to use wings instead of feet. 
It is not a meritorious or heroic act. 
It is simply necessary to genuine human 
life. This new human life exhibits it- 
self in our animal existence, just as ani- 
mal life does in matter. Matter is the 
instrument of animal life, not an ob- 
stacle to it; and so our animal life 
is the instrument of our higher human 
life and should conform to its require- 
ments. Life, then, is the activity of 

5 



the animal man in submission to the 
law of reason. Reason shows man that 
happiness cannot be obtained by a self- 
ish hfe, and leaves open for him only 
one outlet, which is love. Love is the 
only legitimate manifestation of life. 
It has an activity which has for its ob- 
ject the good of others. When it makes 
its appearance, the meaningless strife of 
the animal hfe ceases. 

"Real love is not the preference of 
certain persons whose presence gives 
one pleasure. This, which is ordinarily 
called love, is only a wild stalk on 
which true love may be grafted, and 
true love does not become possible until 
man has given up the pursuit of his 
own welfare. Then at last all the 
juices of life come to nourish the noble 
graft, while the trimk of the old tree, 
the animal man, pours into it its entire 
6 



vigor. Love is the preference which we 
accord to other beings over ourselves. It 
is not a burst of passion, obscuring the 
reason ; on the contrary, no other state 
of the soul is so rational and luminous, 
so calm and joyous; it is the natural 
condition of children and of the wise. 
y "Active love is attainable only for 
him who does not seek his happiness in 
his individual life and who also gives free 
play to his feeling of good-will toward 
others. His well-being depends upon 
love as that of a plant depends on light. 
He does not ask what he should do, 
but he gives himself up to that love 
which is within his reach. He, who in 
this way loves, alone possesses life. 
Such self-renunciation lifts him from 
animal existence above the limitations 
of time and space, which are incompati- 
ble with the idea of real life. 
7 



" Christ knew that he would continue 
to live after his death, because he had 
already entered into the true life which 
cannot cease. He hved even then in 
the rays of that other centre of life 
toward which he was advancing, and 
he saw them reflected on those who 
stood around him. And this every 
man beholds who renounces his own 
good ; he passes in this life into a new 
relation with the world, for which rela- 
tion there is no death ; on one side he 
sees the new light, on the other he sees 
refracted through himself its action on 
his fellows; and this experience gives 
him an immovable faith in the immor- 
tality and eternal growth of life. 

"Faith in immortality cannot be re- 
ceived from another; you cannot con- 
vince yourself of it by argument. To 
have this faith you must feel immor- 
8 



tality; you must establish with the 
world in the present life the new rela- 
tion of love, which the world is no 
longer wide enough to contain. 

" Upon this Christian philosophy, as 
summed up by Tolstoy, is founded the 
view of what True Life is, as set forth 
in the following pages. 
y^ " Count Tolstoy's door to the mys- 
teries is simply active love. According 
to him, preoccupation in working for 
the happiness of others has a reflex 
action in the depth of our being, which 
makes us feel eternal life. It is this 
intensely practical side of his mysticism 
\which preserves its equiUbrium. Other 
mystics have made much of love, but 
it has almost always been an internal 
love of the Deity discouraging action 
and giving free scope to a diseased 
imagination. 

9 



" We are asked to test the theory in 
our own experience, and this is possi- 
ble for each of us, for love is to a cer- 
tain extent at every one's command." 

Tolstoy does not distinguish the ani- 
mal (or physical) stage, the mental (or 
intellectual) stage, and the spiritual 
stage. For his purpose it was not 
necessary that he should. The animal 
life is not conscious of its own condi- 
tion : it is unconscious or without con- 
science and, in so far, is in harmony 
with its environment. Self-conscious- 
ness is the work of the mental stage; 
this stage brings dissatisfaction with 
everything, the hell upon earth of " civ- 
ilized " man. 

The spiritual stage is the true " un- 
derstanding" of the Hebrew scriptures, 
the selflessness or at-one-ment with the 
divine universe. 

10 



PARABLES 



PARABLES. 



I. 

THE LEAENED TEACHER, 

At the forks of the Highway of 
Life a man set up a guidepost to 
point the way to the Heavenly City. 
He wrote it in beautiful Aramaic, 
and put it behind a tree. 

Still the people went astray. 

Then he set a woman in the road 
to point out the guidepost. 

The people could not understand 
it : (it was excellent Aramaic). He 
got a professor to help her. The 
professor translated it to everybody. 

13 



The people said they did not 
believe that either the woman or 
the professor knew the way them- 
selves; and that they were a 
nuisance, anyhow. 

Then the man set up an arrow 
on a post. The people saw it, and 
went the way it pointed « 



14 



11. 

THE PEEFEOTED MAIf. 

A Great Sculptor made a beauti 
ful Image in clay. But when it 
was finished, Necessity pressed upon 
it, and Toil bent it down. Famine 
pinched it, and Tyranny hammered 
it, and Monopoly cast it out from 
the place which the Sculptor had 
ordained for it. 

It lay in the kennel, rejected and 
unclean. Theology passed by on 
the other side and said: "See how 
depraved it is — it is fit only to be 
cast into the fire." 

15 



But Love lifted the Image up and 
wept over it. And as her tears fell 
upon the clay it softened in her 
arms, so that she smoothed out the 
bruises with her hands. 

Then Justice set it again in its 
place and men said: '^ Behold, it was 
made in the image of God !" 



16 



III. 

THE STONES OF CHARITY. 

I WAS tired and greatly dis- 
couraged. I saw greed and crime 
and oppression and hunger as a 
dark foul swamp; and, brooding 
over it all, like a mist, the dull 
stolidity of the rich, and even of 
the poor. So I lay down, and God 
sent sleep, and in my sleep a dream. 

I saw an angel, who gathered what 
seemed like pebbles from the 
ground. And in the quagmire I 
saw poisonous vipers, and I smelled 
the fetid mist. But troops of 
angels passed it by and smiled, 

17 



And at that I was grieved, and I 
cried: "How long, O Lord, wilt 
Thou—" But God said, "Look" 
So I looked, and lo, the angel cast 
into the mire that which he had 
gathered on the earth. 

I said, "Lord, I see no good from 
his labor at all. He will never fill 
up the swamp. Let me work in 
his stead." So I lifted up great 
stones and cast them in, and they 
sank ; they sank and left no trace. 
I said, " Ay, Lord, I will yet fill up 
a corner." The angels passed by, 
and on their faces there were tears. 
With bleeding hands I made that 
corner firm. But I saw that the 
rest of the swamp spread but the 
further ; my strength was gone, and 
I fell into a faint. 

18 



When I awoke, behold the quag- 
mire was dried, and in its place 
was a beautiful grove, like a grove 
of Eucalyptus trees, and in it little 
children played. 

And I wondered, until God said 
to me, "You cast in stones, but 
that which was in my servant's 
hand was seed of the tree which 
men call Equity." Then I knew 
why the angels smiled. 



19 



IV. 

THE ASCENT OF MAN. 

On Man's heart fell the seed of 
Sympathy and from it grew the tree 
of Helpfulness ; and it brought forth 
the buds of Charity. 

When the flowers were withered 
and the leaves had dried into Alms, 
there fell from the tree the heavenly 
fruit of Justice. 



20 



V. 

THE CAPTAINS OF INDUSTRY. 

The great army set out to take 
the Kingdom of Heaven by force. 
There was none to guide it, and 
none cared for his fellow, so that 
the regiments fell upon each other, 
and in the camp there was rest 
neither day nor night. 

Therefore the strong made them- 
selves Captains. The soldiers did 
not choose them, nor did the Great 
King commission them, but each one 
appointed himself, and they whom 
power, and cunning, and chance 

21 



favored, became the Leaders. And 
often they wandered from the way, 
and always the Army followed 
them. 

The Captains used the Army in 
their private quarrels ; nevertheless 
they exacted tribute from the 
Soldiers. " For," said they, " are 
we not taking care of you ?" 

The Soldiers were ignorant and 
foolish ; but they made schools for 
themselves, and the Captains en- 
couraged them, for, thought they, 
"Education will make them better 
fighters." 

Some of the Soldiers said, " These 
wars are not our wars." And the 
Captains ordered their comrades to 
shoot them for mutineers. 

Then they harried their neighbors 
22 



/ill they left in the border noth- 
ing but earth and sky. Yet they 
did not find the Kingdom of Heaven. 

Nevertheless, the Army marched 
on, and came to a pleasant land 
where the earth brought forth 
abundantly. Each Captain took for 
himself all the land he could fence 
about. And hunger and crime and 
want and misery settled among the 
Soldiers. 

Then one arose and cried: " It is 
written, Seek ye first the Kingdom 
of God and His Justice." The 
Soldiers listened and said: ^^That 
means that we should choose good 
leaders." Still they made Captains 
from those whom cunning and 
choice had brought forward, and the 
Captains made themselves rich. 

23 



When war harassed the legions 
from without, and strife harassed 
them from within, the poor soldiers 
said, like you and me : " We must 
go yet a long march to the Kingdom 
of HeaveEo" 



24 



VL 

THE CHARITABLE MAN. 

OisrcE upon a time a man owned ^ 
a herd of cattle, which were lean 
even to starvation, and their bones 
stuck out of their skins. He 
owned also a luxuriant pasture, 
from which his cattle were excluded 
by a strong, high fence. But this 
owner, whatever might be said of 
his wits, was a kind-hearted fellow, 
who occupied himself daily in pull- 
ing handfuls of grass from the pas- 
ture and shoving them through the 
fence to the hungry animals outside. 

25 



Nevertheless, the weaker cattle 
starved and died. One day a 
passer-by said to him : 

"Friend, do you own these 
cattle r 

"I do." 

" And do you own the pasture ?" 

" Yes." 

"Then why don't you let down 
the bars, so that the cattle can feed 
themselves ?" 

Said the owner : " I have as yet 
failed to see that letting down the 
bars would be a panacea for all the 
leanness these cattle are heirs to. 
Instead of broaching far-away 
theories, do something practical ; 
jump over the fence and help me to 
pull some grass and feed it to the 
calves." 

26 



VIL 

COLUMBUS I., LAND OWNEE. 

AccoRDiJNra to tlie doctrine of 
Zoroaster, men, according to their 
deserts, live over again greater or 
lesser parts of their former lives in 
every cycle of ten thousand years. 
Some memory of this former period 
may account for the strong sense 
which every one sometimes feels of 
having passed through exactly the 
same events in the same order once 
before. The reenactment of our 
sins, and the reexaltation of our own 
dead virtues form the future reward 

27 



and punishment. The Lords of 
Life and Death showed to the writer, 
as in a vision, events in his life of a 
former aeon. 

Thus they befell. He sailed 
in a curious high-pooped ship, 
and under a great commander 
named ColumbuSo Hardships there 
were, which the quiet and simple 
sailor shared, and mutiny with 
which he would only argue. The 
story has been told from the reen- 
acted experience in our own aeon, 
how at last land was sighted and a 
new world discovered. 

After Columbus stepped on land 
in that primal age, he did a great, 
though unremembered wrong, and 
for this sin, in our later age, the 
course of events was changed to 

28 



^ror and misfortune for him. 
What he found on shore—the dis- 
appointment which he suffered in 
that later age of 1492 a.d. — we 
know. But it was not so in the 
beginning. In that earlier, purer 
cycle, in which the writer figured, 
Columbus at least wrung from the 
hapless natives no tribute of gold — 
he searched for no Eldorado — he 
practised no cruelties — he sent no 
slaves back to Spain. No ; having 
found a better country, he sought 
not to return to the vices and strifes 
of already overcrowded lands. 
This great and gentle soul merely 
announced that, by the right of 
discovery and of preemption, he 
owned all the land of America, and 
there would make his home. His 

29 



wants were few — a handful of his 
faithful followers, by a little toil, 
furnished him with all that he could 
consume and all that he needed for 
his comfort. His mental vigor 
gave way under the strain of owning 
so much. He became fat, stupid 
and lazy — but he held on to the 
country; and those followers who 
served him best he allowed to work 
upon his land. 

In return for the privilege of 
living in the recesses of his conti- 
nent, two or three of the docile 
Indians gladly brought him all the 
game and fruits he and his friends 
could use; but the problem was 
what to do with the " unemployed." 
There was no demand for labor. 
The commander was naturally un- 

30 



willing to allow his dependents to 
work on land for which they could 
not pay him rent, and, as he already 
had all the goods that his leisure 
and the capacity of his stomach 
allowed him to consume, there was 
nothing valuable to him with which 
they could pay. 

It would have struck at the 
foundation of rent to have allowed 
the overpopulation of Indians or 
the surplus sailors to use the land 
for nothing. It would have been 
neither wise nor right, for then no 
one would have paid any rent; and 
"progress would have stopped; the 
leisure class have been abolished 
and society overturned." 

Everything that an obese mortal 
could do Columbus did to " improve 

31 



the condition of the poor." He 
wrote a book upon ^^Agricultural 
Depression." He ate five meals a 
day so as to increase consumption. 
He counted the cases of starvation, 
and tabulated the fatal cases as due 
to atavism, drink, gluttony, inertia, 
ignorance, shift] essness, vice, and 
(possibly) lack of work. 

He deeply felt the distress, and 
donated to the poor fund all the 
unripe fruit which fell of itself; 
and all the diseased animals he gave 
for charity ; but the depression con- 
tinued. He educated the Indians 
in the use of traps, so that they 
could catch more game, but there 
was less and less market every day. 
Prices fell fearfully low, for the 
few^ who were allowed to produce 

32 



anything could find none who had 
anything to exchange for the prod- 
uct. Columbus established a tariff 
and precluded further immigration, 
so as to make work. He appointed a 
Commissioner to figure out that his 
people were getting high wages, but 
they began to complain ; they be- 
came socialistic and formed trades 
unions; they "struck," and would 
not work for less than they could 
live upon; but day by day, as 
civilization advanced, and the 
country was surveyed by Columbus, 
and " developed " by his captains 
(who planted a grant instead of a 
banner), living became harder. 
Columbus instructed his philoso- 
phers to teach that this was due to 
a single standard, but the writer 



taught that it was due to over- 
production (Columbus made him 
a professor.) 

The priests taught religion, and 
the people heard them gladly, yet 
disease and crime followed famine 
in the land. 

It seems clear that these people 
were totally depraved. Their suf- 
ferings were the result of their 
original sin. Tumults arose and 
huge uproar — Columbus was one 
against many. 

What then? Darl^ness streaked 
with red ! — ^then sunlight. 

The vision passed from me and 
the dream was closed. 



34 



VIII. 

THE SHIP OF STATE. 

Ages and ages ago a great ship 
set sail for the Port of Happiness, 
and on her voyage she ran aground 
in the darkness. But the passengers 
took no notice of it, and the officers, 
seeing that they would be blamed, 
made as if all were well. The 
weeds and barnacles grew about 
the ship and it seemed that she had 
always stood still. As for the 
crew, they said, ^^Why should we 
care if only we earn our usual 
pay V But the ship was straining 
and in danger of going to pieces 

35 



Slie pounded heavily upon the sand. 
"Those noises," said the captain, 
" are strikes. We have always had 
such troubles." 

One day a Fisher came to the 
coast, and when he saw the ship he 
began to push at it ; the passengers 
laughed at him. Others passed by, 
and to them he called, " Come and 
help me." And now and then one 
joined him. The officers said : 
" These people are disturbers of the 
peace. They must be driven off." 
And others said: ^-If they push 
the ship off, no one knows where 
she will go or what will become of 
her." 

Then a passenger stood up and 
shouted to those who worked : 
"You fools, your intentions are 

36 



good, but you are ahead of the 
times, and the wind is against you." 
The Fisher replied, ^'The tide is 
rising." And still he cried aloud 
for help. Some of the passengers 
came and helped him push, and the 
timbers cracked. '' That," said the 
ship's doctor, ^' is the necessary strife 
of nature." And some of those who 
were on board grew sick in the hot 
rays of the sun, so that their groans 
annoyed the officers, and they put 
the sick in the hold. 

He who pushed cried out, " The 
Kingdom of God is at hand." The 
officers did not understand him ; 
therefore they put him to death. 

Nevertheless the commotion at- 
tracted many, and now and then 
one left his work and hauled or 

37 



pried with a lever, or fastened a 
float under the ship. And some, 
though meaning to strengthen the 
ship, fastened weights on her sides. 
These they called reforms and 
charities. The Pilot said : " To try 
to get the ship off is Utopian. Let 
us make the people as comfortable 
as possible, so that they will be 
quiet." 

But as the toilers strove wearily 
and almost discouraged, a wind 
from Grod came out of the west, 
and when all pushed, the great ship 
moved off, and behold, it had tarried 
almost in sight of the Kingdom. 

And many of those who were 
pushing died in the chill water, and 
some were drowned and manv for- 

38 



gotten. But their names are written 
in the book of remembrance of Him 
who cried, " The Kingdom of God 
is at hand." 



39 



IX. 

THE EAKTH HATH HE GIYElSr FOR A-R 
INHERITANCE. 

A Father provided a feast for 
his children. When all was ready 
the eldest boy went early to the 
door, and when the rest came he 
said : 

^^ Before you can get any of this 
provision you must pay me for a 
place at the table ; I got here first." 

'' Why, brother/' said a little girl, 
" you can't eat all that food, nor sit 
in all those chairSc There are more 
than enough places for us all to sit 



in." 



40 



" No," said the boy, '' but when 
you get hungry, you will give me 
all your toys for one place." 

Just then the second son came in; 
he was large for his age, and rather 
rough, so he took the little monopo- 
list by the neck and threw him out. 

^^Now," said he, "I'll take those 
toys, please, and if you wish to 
come back, you may gather them in 
for me^ — then I will let you take a 
little of the food." 

His smart little sister said: 
" Brother, I can make those things 
much nicer. I will cook the apples, 
and sugar the pies — if you will let 
me have the seats down at the end 
for myself." 

So he agreed, and she rented out 
those few seats, hired a servant to 

41 



do the work, and got so mucli to 
eat tliat it made her sick. 

But the youngest boy was smarter 
yet. He ran in, crying : " A big 
circus is passing, and the lion has 
broken out and is fighting — " The 
rest of the children were too weak 
from hunger to take much notice, 
but the small seat owner and his 
tenant ran out to see. " Now," said 
the little fellow, ^^ I have the seats. 
We have had a great deal of dis- 
order, and we, who are so many that 
we can keep those usurpers out, 
must make an agreement to establish 
my title, so as to stop this continual 
change." 

The innocent children agreed and 
grew hungrier still. 



42 



THE TEOUBLED WATEK. 

'^We seem no nearer ^ thougli 
we started twenty days ago/' said 
tlie water in the low-pressure 
Boiler, '^ we will never get there; 
I can't push this ship of Progress 
any faster, and yesterday we 
stopped. Think of how all my 
drops are wasted, keeping the 
electric light alive, and the saloon 
heated and the donkey-engine 
going and the fog-horn sounding 
(when there's fog we hardly go at 
all, for I waste myself in blowing) 

43 



and the decks washed and the 
galley faucets hot and — ' ' 

^^ Don't be worried," said the 
Engine, ^^ the Engineer will attend 
to those ; you have only one thing 
to do, — keep boiling. '^ 



44 



XL 

A EEVISED VEESIOITe 

^^The Lord bringeth thee into a 
good land, a land of brooks of 
water, of fountains and depths 
which spring out of valleys and 
hills (which thou mayest hire of the 
water companies) : a land of wheat 
and barley (which thou mayest 
raise upon shares), and vines and fig 
trees and pomegranates (which will 
help thee and thy children to pay 
the hire of thy lot) ; a land of olive 
oil and honey ; a land wherein thou 
shalt eat bread without scarceness 
(if thou canst give the price for the 

45 



field) ; thou shalt not lack anything 
in it (save only the rent thereof). 

^^ A. land where stones are iron, 
and out of whose hills thou mayest 
dig brass (for those who hold the 
title to the hills)." Deuteronomy 
viii. V, 9. 



46 



XII. 

"how the other half ltves" 
UPON us. 

LoKG ago there was a great swarm 
of Bees working together, and they 
made much honey. And because 
the Drones ruled the hive, they 
took what honey they could use. 
And each worker made a little 
honey to help the government, and 
there was plenty for all. 

The Bees multiplied and spread 
out over new fields. Then they 
devised boxes which held the comb 
in place ; some of the Bees made 

47 



the comb, some gathered honey, 
and some cared for the young. 

So they got much honey, and the 
hive increased till no one dared 
attack them ; and they made laws 
for themselves. 

Some of the Drones began to 
take the filled boxes for them- 
selves. '^ We get these," said they, 
''because we govern the Workers 
who make honey in our fields." 

They stored up these boxes, and 
the honey fermented, so that the 
Drones were drunken on it Still 
they took more boxes. ^^ We take 
these," said they, " because we per- 
mit the Workers to get honey in our 
fields." 

Then the Drones began to change 
the laws to profit themselves. Some 

48 



of the Workers objected and buzzed 
and showed their stings. The 
Drones said to them, ^^ Why oppose 
us ? Rather come in with us, and 
you also shall be drunk with 
honey." And the agitators took a 
very little honey and were stilled. 

So the Drones took still larger 
boxes of honey. "You must pay 
us these," said they, "because we 
can prevent the Workers gathering 
any honey in our fields." 

And it came to pass that there 
was not enough honey for all, and 
there were no fields open to work, 
so that some Bees were starvedo 
The Drones said with a sigh, 
"Verily, the poor we have always 
with us (else w^e would have to 
work)." 

49 



The stored-up honey began to 
stink, and to breed disease; the 
Drones gave away a little of the 
spoiled honey in charity ; and the 
Queen Bee cried, " It is God who 
sends this suffering. How mysteri- 
ous are His ways I" 



50 



XIII. 

THE PLAN OF THE UNIVEKSE. 

^ ^ Now, let us get to a common ba- 
sis. Those rows o£ beets run north 
and south ! '' shouted the Socialist. 

^^East and west, you mean," 
said the Single-Taxer, standing on 
the other side of the field. 

^ ^ I have a compass ! ' ' cried the An- 
archist, ^ ^ and, if you will come over 
here, you will observe that the rows 
run south-east by north-west.'' 

^^ Just look at the sun, which is 
behind me," remarked the Com- 
munist, ^^you will see that they 
run south-west by north-east." 

^^ They are arranged in order," 
said the Prophet, ^^ from whatever 
point you look." 

51 



DOING THE NEXT THING — OE, THE 
" PEACTICAL " REFORMEE. 

A Benevolent Man set out to 
lead men in the paths of Peace, but 
his steps were turned in the other 
direction. 

A Wise Man said : " You are 
going astray. You must turn about 
face." He answered, '^ Your theory 
may be good in the abstract, but I 
cannot stop to consider it. I am 
doing the immediate practical work 
of overcoming the obstacles at hand." 

The path which he made led 
many astray, and the Wise Man 

52 



repeated, "If you would succeed, 
you must turn to the right." " I 
have no time," replied the Benev- 
olent One, " to discuss panaceas ; if 
you really wish to do some good, 
come and help me fill up yon social 
gulf or bale out that landlocked 
Sea of Misery." 

And because he was a Benevo- 
lent Man many followed after him 
and they made men sick with toil, 
forsaking Justice for Expediency. 



53 



XV. 

AN UNPEACTICAL POLITICIAN. 

There was a miglity people which 
dwelt in great darkness. Because 
of the darkness the oppressors came 
and spoiled them, and Evil Beasts 
took possession of the land. 

Each citizen said to himself, 
"The thick darkness can be felt; 
affairs are in a hopeless state." A 
woman said, ^^Nevertheless, I will 
lift up my light." "When she had 
lifted it up, the savages attacked 
her, and even her own people mur- 
mured : " You but help the Kobbers 
and show them where to strike." 

54 



Jthers cried : " You dazzle the 
eyes of the people so that they 
know not where they are going " 
The crowd pressed upon her, so that 
it did not seem any the brighter for 
her solitary light, and she was well- 
nigh discouraged. 

Nevertheless she fought on, de- 
fending her little gleam, and her 
light did shine. 

But the leaders loved the dark- 
ness, therefore they said : " You 
are attracting the enemy." She 
thought in her heart : '^ On one 
side and on the other there are 
surely some who have their lamps 
burning. They cannot see each 
other, and each thinks he is alone. 
My ray they may see, and know that 
they are not without companions." 

55 



Around her the fight raged still 
more fiercely; there was none to 
help ; her strength was almost spent 
— and her light was trampled out. 
As she sank down to die, one be- 
hind her took courage of her, and 
lifted up his light, and there gleamed 
other lights, and behold another 
and another. 

But she did not see them. 

Yet her light does shine. " Yea/' 
saith the Spirit, '' they do rest from 
their labors, and their works do 
follow them." 



66 



XVL 

THE WALKS OF LIFE. 

Sunday's text was, " Ye cannot 
serve God and Mammonc" At the 
time I said it was a very good ser- 
mon ; but to-day, in my walk in the 
everyday world, I said to myself 
that, like a great deal else in the 
New Testament, it was meant only 
for the Jews; the times have changed 
all that. For I passed by, and saw 
a footman standing in the bitter 
cold, coughing ; so I asked the lady 
who came out of the great house if 
it was needful to have him out on 
such a day ? She said gently, ^^ Do 



I not pay him for it ? Others would 
be glad to do it for less; and I 
give him and the coachman employ- 
ment — waiting. I hope my horses 
have not got cold while I was 
inside doing sewing for the un- 
employed — ^which would sell for 
eighteen cents." Then I told her 
if the horses got pneumonia, 
that would give more work still 
to the veterinary, and the foot- 
man could go to the hospital free. 
But she said that was cruelty to 
animals, and had nothing to do with 
her men; so I passed on. 

Then I saw two little children 
playing marbles, only they had no 
marbles, nothing but little round 
stones which they had searched 
out; and their father sat gloomily 

58 



^n the doorstep. He is a stone 
cutter, a steady man, and would 
work for twelve dollars a week — 
tlie rent is four — but lie has no 
work. It is hard to get work in 
the winter, so he must stay and 
mind the two younger children 
while his wife goes out washing at 
a dollar and a quarter a day. But 
she cannot get enough to do. On 
the next block I could see the office 
of the " Aid to Employment 
Society," so I said to myself, '^ This 
is not very sad after all, because if 
he is worthy — that is, in danger o f 
starving — ^he can get food at the 
'^Down Town Relief Bureau" or 
the "Leake Dole of Bread;" so I 
passed on. 

Then the wind blew my hat off, 

59 



and a gentle-looking man caught it 
and handed it to me, and looked so 
pleased, as though I had done him 
a favor, that I, who am a garrulous 
old fellow, talked to him too. He 
was a copyist — an elderly man — and 
he was looking for work. I do not 
think he can have been very capa- 
ble ; he said that the Young Men's 
Christian Association taught a great 
many stenographers at their free 
evening classes, and that girls were 
doing the work too, and that makes 
it hard. He never had been able 
to save anything, and sickness had 
brought him in debt ; he would work 
for eight dollars a week. " But," 
said I, " life for you and your wife 
is not worth having on so little as 
that; I would rather starve at 

60 



4:i£ice." " Well," said lie patiently, 
" I go to the reading-rooms of the 
Cooper Unionj and that is pleasant^ 
only they will not let me smoke my 
pipe, and my daughter (she is only 
a factory girl now), belongs to the 
^Girls' Friendly/ while my wife 
gets a little help (not charity, you 
know) at the Mothers' Meeting." 
So I said to myself that this was all 
very good ; and I passed on. 

I w^ent into Nineteenth Street. 
Near Sixth Avenue there is a dark 
alley, ill-smelling, foul. I thought 
to myself, this is very strange that 
there should be such a place so 
close to the rich lady's great house ; 
so I went in. In the front is a 
tumble-down tenement, and in the 
rear is another. I climbed up a 

61 



crooked little stair covered with 
ashes, thrown there for lack of a 
worse place, and knocked at the 
door of the top story. It was a 
room a little higher than my head, 
and about as big as your butler's 
pantry. There were three other 
^' rooms " opening into it, for all of 
which the mother pays nine dollars 
a month. The three " rooms " are 
dark closets, one of which, however, 
has a little window. They were 
not very clean, because in each of 
them the bed fills the whole space ; 
there our sister lives with nine 
children. Nevertheless she had a 
guest, a stranger whom she took in 
from the streets the night before. 
The place was not very healthful, for 
in the yard between it aud the front 

62 



house were the closets used for 
both buildings. I talked with her, 
and found, sure enough, she did 
drink sometimes, which I thought 
to myself was very unnecessary 
when she could amuse herself and 
her children so well in her home. 
Downstairs they told me all about 
her. I fear she was not a nice 
woman, but perhaps refinement 
does not grow in such a place. 

Downstairs they took me for a 
health officer, and owned up that 
there were two families on every 
floor (which probably meant four). 
And I saw two vacant lots in the 
next block; so I supposed they 
could go and live there, or at least 
they could be industrious and save 
money and buy the lots. So I said 



to myself that this misery was the 
will of God ; and I passed on. As 
I went out a girl hissed at me from 
behind the shutter^ and I stopped 
to speak even to her. She said 
that she took to that Avay of life 
because she loved nice clothes 
(that seemed to me natural; all 
good women love these)^ and 
drudgery was hard^ and she had no 
friends or amusement. I supposed 
that she could have got a place as 
a trained servant, and that she 
richly deserved all that she suf- 
fered; so I passed on. Then I 
said to myself, I could get her a 
place, or at least, one for her little 
sister. But no one would take the 
child. One said she did not look 
strong, another that she was not 

64 



energetic, another that she was 
ignorant. So I asked the great 
ladies how many of their friends 
were not delicate, or lazy, or igno- 
rant, and if they knew any of them 
who would make good waitresses ? 
But they said no, that they were 
the upper classes, and did not need 
to be so good as common people. 
So I said to myself, these are not 
really our sisters; only the upper 
classes were made in His image, 
and each will find her proper place ; 
so I passed on. The scrubbing 
woman went out as I did. She 
said, " Grood-evening, your honor," 
which was very respectful, so I 
talked with her. She is seventy- 
five years old, does not drink ; her 
husband is sober too; he is 

65 



seventy, quite a young man, she 
said ; he was a watchman, and got 
the rheumatism ; now he could only 
watch in houses; he could give 
good references, so when they had a 
house to take care of in the summer, 
they did nicely, but they had never 
been able to save anything. She 
did not look as though she spent 
money on dress, but I suppose she 
could not have been economical, 
otherwise they would have been 
rich. Then I said to myself that 
this also must be as it should be, 
because — because — ^but you will 
have to think that out for yourself. 
So I passed on. 

I saw that there was no real 
scarcity of money, because in the 
basement there was an embroiderer 

66 



filling in an elaborate blanket for a 
baby's cradle. It was to be raffled 
for at the church fair; and I sup- 
pose that the old bachelor who gets 
it (we manage such things at bazaars) 
will give it back again; and the 
young ladies will laugh, aud kiss 
the roses and sell them to him at a 
dollar apiece, and there will be a 
great deal of fun and Jollity, and 
the good Lord will get money there-^ 
by to carry on the work of His 
church. 

Then I said to myself, we have 
also the Charity Ball, where there 
is dancing, and harmless mirth, and 
ladies expose their innocent breasts, 
and get lots of champagne, and be- 
hold, the hospital coffers are filled 
with money, yet no one misses ito 

67 



And I supposed that I saw the 
decrees of Providence even in that ; 
so I passed on. 

Then I said to myself, what a 
foolish old sermon that was ; all 
that about, "Inasmuch as ye did it 
not unto one of the least of my 
brethren, ye did it not unto me." 
Our latter-day people will be able 
to explain to the Lord that the 
"brethren" he meant must have 
been tramps, at the least, or they 
would not have got into prison ; 
they must have been lazy. For 
Mr. Carnegie (who is a very kind 
man) says that no one willing to 
work need be out of employment 
in America. If they were naked it 
was their own fault, or at least 
God's doing, because He said, " The 

68 



poor ye have always with you." 
Besides, Mr. Atkinson says that 
ever since those days the laborer 
has been getting ^' an increasing 
share of an increasing product." If 
they were hungry, their own strikes 
and labor combinations were re- 
sponsible, and even then they could 
have gone to the soup kitchens. 

So I said to myself, I will ask 
the minister to read no more of that 
chapter in Matthew, nor about such 
things as " adding field to field till 
there be no place," because such 
preaching only makes us respectable 
people feel uncomfortable, and un- 
settles the working-classes about 
our owning the earth. We are con- 
tented with our lots ; why are not 
they contented with theirs, when 

69 



every professor says the land-own- 
ing system is the best possible, 
because no enlightened nation has 
ever even tried any other ? Then I 
said to myself, there is no connec- 
tion between land and labor. So I 
passed on. 



70 



XVIL 

THE TEEE OF EQUITY. 

In the Garden of the King stood 
a beautiful Tree ; a fountain nour- 
ished it with the water of Love, and 
beneath its boughs the Children 
did their wholesome work and 
played. 

Some of the King's Servants said : 
" This Tree is good for shade ; but 
in the world we have seen chari- 
table trees which give food, and 
drink, and medicine, and raiment, 
as well as shade. Therefore we will 
plant such trees beside the other." 

71 



And these new trees grew np and 
shut off the winds of heaven from 
the Tree of Equity, so that it 
twisted and waxed weak. More- 
over, the water of the fountain was 
drawn off. Therefore the leaves of 
the Tree of Equity withered away. 

And when its shade was lost the 
fierce heat of Competition beat 
down and sucked up the springs of 
Love, so that the sap dried out even 
from the earthly trees, and those 
who sought shelter from the heat 
were mocked by withered boughs. 



72 



XVIII 

BECAUSE THEY WEEE ASSES. 

The Monkeys, being as lazy as 
you and I, began to ride the 
Donkeys. A big Monkey would 
ride in front of the herd ; this he 
called "being their leader;" al- 
though, since the Donkeys were 
strong, he had in the end to go the 
way the Donkeys wished. 

Sometimes the Donkeys kicked. 
Then the Monkeys called them 
" Anarchists." 

The Monkeys grew so fat and 
heavy that the Asses had no 

73 



strengtli remaining to get their own 
foodo 

They began to complain, and to 
seek for causes and cures. A sweet 
girl Monkey said: "I will take 
them some flowers to allay their 
discontent- — we will establish a 
Flower Mission." The Monkeys 
subscribed liberally. 

A dear little Monkey added : ^^ I 
will hold a Charity Fair, which will 
raise enough from the Benevolent 
Apes to send some of the young 
Asses' Colts to the fields for a 
week.'' The Monkeys called that 
^^Enlightened Charity." A long- 
eared Monkey cried : '^ No, preach 
temperance ; those Beasts of Asses 
drink so much that they have no 
u 



time to eat and nothing to eat in 
the time if they had it." The 
Monkeys restricted the sale of drink 
— ^to Asses. 

A Big Ass said : " What we need 
is a high wall around so as to keep 
out pauper hay— then the Monkeys 
will give us employment cultivating 
hay fields, and pay us with some of 
the hay." The Monkeys made a wall 
so close that the Asses could not see 
through it. Said a small Donkey : 
^^ We need cheaper money so that 
we can buy some leisure time from 
the Monkeys who make the money.'^ 
The Monkeys did not like this — 
they were only Monkeys. 

^^Now," said an Ecclesiastical 
Ape, ^^sin is at the bottom of all 

75 



this. These Monkeys are on top of 
you because your hearts are cor- 
rupto" So he preached to the 
Monkeys about the depravity of 
Donkeys. 

^^I have discovered," said a 
Mule^ "that it is because lower- 
class animals are lazy — too lazy to 
graze — that all this want and suffer- 
ing existSo^^ (The Monkeys made 
that Mule a Professor.) 

Still the Asses kicked, 

"Have we not done all that we 
could for you ?" said the Monkeys. 
" What you really need is a Strong 
Government, to provide formidable 
Arms for us, and to insure the stabil- 
ity of the Social Order." Then the 
Asses voted additional appropria- 

76 



tions for all these things, and many 
enlisted in the " National Guard." 

The Monkeys had the spending 
of the Money. 



77 



XIX, 

HOW THE DOCTORS AT LAST AGREED. 

A PATIENT with a rope twisted 
tight around his feet was brought 
to the Sociologic Hospital. His 
skin was chafed and bruised by the 
cord, and fever burned him so that 
he was like to perish outright. 

Said Dr, Divine : ^' We must 
first make you and your fellows 
religious, so that you won't come to 
such dreadful straits." 

^^ No/' said Dr. Socialis ; " first do 
away with competition, which makes 
men enemies, then if the patient 

78 



needs religion, it may be adminis- 
tered." 

Dr. Charitas said : " Good homes 
would prevent all this. Now here 
is a plan for improvements " 

"Too much animal food," said 
Dr. Vegetaria ; '' he must learn to 
live on oatmeal ; then wounds will 
readily heal — ^indeed, no one will 
inflict them." 

Says Dr. Monomet: ^'Take the 
gold cure, my good man — one pill 
after " 

"That's just the matter — too 
much gold now," remarked Dr. Coin. 
" But here are some silver-coated 
pills. Take sixteen " 

"Nonsense," said Dr. Ballot. 
" When the complexion is all right, 

79 



your whole body is well. I have 
here an Australian wash which 
will fix you right up." 

"First take this aqua pura to 
steady your head," cried Dr. Prohib. 
" Here is a prescription, the effect 
of which combined with — — " 

" Nonsense," said Dr. Legis, " he 
needs a law forcing him to have less 
of that fever which is eating him up." 

Cried Master Freedom : " Cut the 
rope which causes " 

Then all the doctors united in 
yelling : " Anarchist, Visionary, 
Crank, Quack, Radical, Utopian, 
Revolutionary, Fool !" 

Meanwhile the patient died, and 
the coroner's jury decided that his 
death was due to natural causes. 

80 



XX. 

1776 TO 1897. 

A Lion used to feed upon a herd 
of Cattle, taking whatever he 
pleased, because he owned the 
Colony. He called this a Mon- 
archy. 

Some of the Bulls, however, hav- 
ing grown formidable Horns, in 
the West, sent the Lion word that 
Taxation without representation 
was Tyranny, and declared War. 
After an unsuccessful struggle with 
them, the Lion handed down the 
following tradition : 

81 



Said lie : " My Legitimate Off- 
spring will take one-tliird of your 
Increase ; wMle you vote for your 
Representatives. We will call my 
offspring Landlords, and they will 
tax you all. This will be a De- 
mocracy." The Bulls were per- 
fectly satisfied, or seemed to be so. 

MOEAL : 

This Fable teaches that Eternal 
Vigilance is the price of Liberty^ 
and that this price is too high for 
the Quality of the article which you 
and I get ; also that the Landlord 
is perfectly Just, because if you are 
strong or cunning enough, you can 
become one yourself. 



82 



XXI 

A NIl^ETEENTH CENTUEY SAMARITAINT. 

A CEETAi]^ man went down from 
Jerusalem to America and fell among 
land lords and tax-gatherers, which 
stripped him of his raiment, and 
wounded him and departed, leaving 
him half dead. 

And, by chance, there came that 
way a certain priest (who was sup- 
ported by the land owners), and 
when he saw him he said, " Noth- 
ing but the Gospel can eradicate 
crime,'' and passed by on the other 
side. 

83 



And likewise a philosopher (who 
owned a little land), when he was 
at the place, came and looked on 
him and said, " Suffering is necessary 
and inevitable ;" and passed by on 
the other side. But a certain 
Samaritan ground owner, as he 
journeyed, came where he was, and 
when he saw him he had compassion 
on him. 

And he went to him, and gave 
him a dispensary card, and called a 
police ambulance and gave him the 
address of a free night lodging- 
house. 

And on the morrow he took out 
a ticket to the Charity Organization 
Society, and gave it to him that 
was wounded, and said unto him, 

84 



^^ Take care of that ; and if thou 
needest more, when I come again I 
will give thee a letter to the wood- 
yard." 

Which one thinkest thou was 
neighbor unto him that fell among 
thieves ? 

And he said, " He that showed 
mercy on him, and politely turned 
aside to let him die." 



85 



XXIL 

A SOCIAL AERANaEMENT. 

*^I WAKT some room in this 
world," said the Baby. 

"You haven't any capital with 
which to buy land/' said the Emeri- 
tus Professor of Social Economics 
and Political Economy, "therefore 
you can't have it." 

" Capital," said the Baby, " what's 
that ?" 

"Things used to produce more 
things," replied the Emeritus Pro- 
fessor of S. E. & P. E. 

86 



^^ That seems clear,'' said the Baby. 
*'Are there no such things which 
you call ^ capital ' in the world ?" 

^' Oh, yes ; there is an overabun- 
dance of capital. It goes to waste 
because we can't find employment 
for it." 

" Lend me some of it," said the 
Baby. "I'll use it." 

" You can't, for you have no land 
to use it on," replied the E. P. of S. 
E. & P. E. 

" Is everybody working who could 
use it for me ?" persisted the trouble- 
some child. 

"No," replied the Professor. 
" Not exactly. You don't seem to 
understand the law of Supply and 
Demand." 

87 



^' What is tliis law of Supply and 
Demand ?" asked the Baby. 

" It is," said the Professor, " that 
when people want things others 
make them for them — that is — well 
— ah — you are too young to under- 
stand that. They need capital." 

" Where does capital come from ?" 
asked the Baby again. 

" Why, men make it by work, 
out of land, and the products of 
land." 

^^ If I made some would I own it ?" 

"Yes — that is — er — certainly you 
ought to." 

" All right," said the Baby. " My 
father will work and make some 
capital for me; so now let me have 
room for my cradle.'^ 

88 



" I told you before," replied the 
Professor, '' there is too much capital 
already." 

" Well, let me have a place to 
stand, and I will do some work." 

Said the Professor: ^^ Nobody 
wants your work." 

Said the Baby : " I want it my 
selfo If I don't work, how can I 
live ?" 

"You can't have it," answered 
the Social and Political Economist. 
*'' There is an overproduction of 
goods, a large number of persons 
who want goods, and so many people 
to work that they can't find any- 
thing to do." 

" I don't understand that," said 
the Baby. 

89 



"Neither — do — I," said the Pro- 
fessor slowlje 

" When I grow up I'll buy some 
land with the capital I make." 

" There won't be any land for sale 
by the time you grow up. It will 
be just like England." 

" Isn't there enough land ? Is all 
the land there used ?" 

" Oh, dear, no, it isn't all used, 
but it is all valuable, and there is a 
short supply." 

"What makes land valuable?" 
asked the Baby. 

"The increase of persons there," 
said the Professor promptly — "even 
a baby ought to know that." 

" Have I given a value to this 
land by being born ?" 

90 



^^ Certainly/' replied the E.Rof 
6. E. & P. E. 

"Then I want a share of that 
value which I have made," said the 
Baby. 

" But/' said the Professor, " that 
belongs to the owners of the land." 

And as the Baby had nothing to 
live on, it diedo And afterward the 
Professor died, and then God asked 
him some questions about Social 
and Political Economy. 



91 



XXIII. 

THE FIEE. 

There was a great fire in a pit. 
It had been built with toil, and it 
was fierce and bright. Huge logs 
blazed up, heating each other, and 
the flames roared hungrily. 

On the edge of the pit, beyond 
the fire, a fagot had been blown. 
No one saw it. The outside of it 
was charred and cold. But its 
heart glowed. It was a little fagot. 

The great fire died out, for all 
its fuel was consumed. The air 
grew damp and chill. 

92 



There came a wind from God, 
and the fire in the little fagot 
waked. Slowly a wreath of smoke 
curled out, slowly a little tongue 
pushed up, and the fagot burst into 
flame. Softly the flame crept 
through the grass; it touched a 
tree and vaulted wildly up — the 
forest was afire, and its brightness 
lighted up the World. 

The little fagot's mission was ful- 
filled, and it burned out, like the 
great fire. No one noticed it. Its 
fuel also was consumed. 



93 



XXIV. 

laboe's journey. 

A STEOisra horse set out on a 
never-ending journey, and, because 
the way was steep, and the flints 
sharp, and his Driver stern, he fell 
lame the very first day ; but in pro- 
cess of time his feet hardened, and 
by Natural Selection, he learned to 
pick out the smooth places, and to 
avoid the rocks ; so when he came 
to where the road was smoothly 
paved with Invention, the Prophets 
said : '' Surely he will one day 
come to the end of his journey." 

But he passed across the common 

94 



lands, and a great thorn ran up into 
his hoof, so that he fell lame worse 
than before. But the driver, Neces- 
sity, lashed him all the harder. 

Then the Doctors considered his 
case; they saw that he was shod 
with the iron Law of Wages, and 
that Competition pressed him down. 

So they bound his feet with 
Unions, lest he should take too 
long steps, and decreed that he 
should work but eight hours a day. 
They brought him thin broth called 
Charity, and put a check rein on 
him for " Protection.'' 

But he grew only the worse, and 
began to bite and kick at those 
against whom he stumbled. 

Then the Prophets said: ^^He 

95 



is depraved and ignorant, and lie 
must be taught." 

So they made a law for Compul- 
sory Education, but lie became more 
discontented still, and great blotches 
broke out on his body. 

^' These," said they, " are Social 
Evils." So they plastered them 
with Expediency, and he checked his 
fever with Drink. Necessity lashed 
him only the harder. Then they 
organized a Society for the preven- 
tion of cruelty, and made labor 
laws; yet he went all the more 
painfully. 

" This," said they, " is the result 
of overcrowding in the stables," and 
^^we must take measures," they said, 
'' for the suppression of sweating." 

96 



But these gave no relief. 

A certain Radical looked at him 
and said : ^^ Let us first take out the 
thorn, Monopoly," 

But the Sages answered: "If 
you take out the thorn, there Avill 
be no stimulus to work, and Pro- 
gress will stop." 

The Radical said : '^ The natural 
condition is the best." 

But they answered : " Did not 
you see that he was lame before he 
picked up the thorn?" 

He said: "Let us take out the 
thorn ?" 

A Moral Teacher replied: "The 
Churches have sanctioned that thorn 
— ^remember that there is no panacea. 
I will bandage his foot with Resig- 

97 



nation; then I will get upon his 
back, with the clergyman, and he 
will go much better. 

And for a time the horse did 
seem to go better^ until he could 
stand the pain no longer. Then he 
bucked off even the Clergyman. 

The Clergyman said that was 
Original Sin. 

And the Radical repeated: ^^Let 
me take out the thorn." 

But the Politicians cried i " Anar- 
chist ! Visionary ! Fool ! if you 
take out that thorn you will break 
up his System — and besides he will 
not let any of us get up again on 
his backo" 

But again the Radical said: 
^^Take out the thorn." 

98 



And the Professors said : ^^ You 
are a parrot, and do not understand 
Political Economy; we must pro- 
vide work for him ; and the State 
must own his harness, so that there 
will be no lack of straps and no 
fault in them.'' 

Still the Horse grew wilder and 
worse, and the pig-headed Radical 
said only, again and again : ^' Take 
out the thorn." 

A Prohibitionist said : ^' I think 
he has other diseases, due to Intem- 
perance." 

'' No ! due to Wickedness !" cried 
the Minister. 

"It may be so," repeated that 

narrow-minded Radical, " but I will 

take out the thorn," 

L.ofC. 



XXV. 

A SACEAMENT OF DECEIT. 

There was a man wlio wished to 
serve the great King ; for, he said 
to himself : '^ I am strong of hand 
and loving of heart, therefore I will 
help forward the coming of the 
Kingdom." 

He took up the lamp of truth 
and went against the hosts of dark- 
ness, but when the adversary pressed 
upon him he was afraid, and, laying 
down his lamp, he hid himself in a 
refuge of lies. 

Now, when the enemy had taken 

100 



up the lamp, they saw through the 
wattled walls of falsehood, and, 
falling upon the poor soldier within, 
wounded him and left him for dead. 

It chanced that another of the 
children of light passed that way, 
and when he was asked, " Is your 
army of such as this ?" he thought, 
" Why should we be ashamed in the 
face of the foe?" Wherefore, he 
said : " This was not of our people." 

So^ when the wounded man re- 
vived, the enemy thought that there 
had been a mistake, and because 
they spoke softly to him, and be- 
cause their General's promises were 
large, he joined the enemy. 

To him the Kingdom came not at 



101 



XXVL 

A OUEE FOR A OONSCIENOE. 

A CERTAiisr Man was troubled 
with a conscience. He felt that his 
life was not what it should be. 
Therefore he resorted to the 
physicians. He asked a statesman 
if politics would agree with his con- 
science. The statesman replied that 
conscience had a place in politics 
but that if we followed conscience 
we could accomplish nothing, for 
in politics, obedience to conscience 
is an iridescent dream. 

"We must/' he explained, "dis« 

102 



cover the best issue presented, and 
vote for that, though it be not ab- 
stractly right, else we shall throw 
away our votes. If we act thus we 
may not only serve the state, but 
attain to office." The Man thought, 
" I like not the morality of the poli- 
tician." (This Man was a danger- 
ous man,) The Man then asked a 
high priest if his conscience could 
be made useful, and the priest an- 
swered : " Yes, man is nothing 
without a conscience — on Sundays; 
on week days it were well for him 
to leave his conscience in church." 
The priest added : '' The teachings 
of Christ are counsels of perfection. 
If every one would obey them you 
also might do so, but here you must 

103 



act as best you can, and if you do 
the best you can, all will be right 
with you in the next world." 
^^But," said the Man, ''1 live in 
this world." The Man asked a 
man of this world what he should 
do with his unsatisfied consciencCc 
The captain of industry answered : 
"You would better put your con- 
science in cold storage. The laws 
of business and the penal code em- 
body the moral law ; you have only 
to consider them. If your con- 
science is imeasy smash it with the 
ledger and heap upon it the revised 
statutes. So may you get — ^rich." 
And the Man with a conscience 
went away sorrowful, for he had 
much conviction. Yet was the 

104 



jMan not discouraged. He asked 
the theologians, and they answered 
variously: "If you would have 
peace — believe," " sacrifice/' " work," 
" fast." And nearly all said " give," 
but not a single one said ^' love." 
Then the Man went to a prophet of 
God, and the prophet said : " Seek 
first the Kingdom." The Man 
asked, " Shall I get thereby high 
office ?" " You will be a servant of 
servants." "' Shall I get riches ?" 
" You must leave all to follow the 
light." " Shall I have a quiet mind ?" 
" It is written, ^ I come not to bring 
peace, but a sword.^ " " What, then, 
do you offer me if I seek the King- 
dom ?" " I offer you only a love for 
men and the joy of a spiritual life." 

105 



The Man said : '' The road to the 
Kingdom is dark." And the 
prophet answered : ^' The light is " 
within you, and it is written, ^ The 
path of the just is as a shining light 
that shineth more and more unto 
the perfect day,' " 



106 



XXVII. 

THE DESERVnSTG HOESES. 

A HERD of Horses grazed on a 
great plain, and because grass was 
easy to get, they would work for no 
one but themselves. 

The Riders began to put fences 
about the best pastures (in order 
to preserve the country). Then 
the Horses were willing to work 
for the Riders, but only if they 
could get corn to eat. Therefore 
fche Riders passed laws to regulate 
the hire of Horses, and the Horses 

107 



jumped the fences, and would work 
for little less tlian before. 

The Riders made an outcry that 
wolves were coming, so that the 
Horses huddled together. Then 
the fences were extended around 
the whole herd. When the Horses 
wished to run against the fences to 
break them, the Riders cried: 
^' Stand by us, and we will protect 
you." Nevertheless, when the 
wolves did come the Riders only 
drove out some of the Horses to 
trample upon them. And they 
made the fences strong and high. 

The Horses starved in the pens, 
and the charitable among the Riders 
began to consider the Condition of 
Society. Said they : " The rate of 

108 



mortality among "Work Horses is 
frightful." 

'' That," said a noted Driver, " is 
because their habits are filthy. 
Look at that pen !'* 

"I think rather," said a Eing 
Master, " because they are ignorant. 
These Horses do not even know 
how to act, else I would mount 
them and care for them." 

^' No," said a Horse Doctor, " it is 
because it is their nature to crowd 
together." 

Said a Teamster: "The Horses 
are lazy." 

" It is drinking too much," said a 
Farrier, " that makes them hungry." 

"They are improvident," said a 
Horse Dealer. 

109 



"Right," said a Huntsman. "Now 
look at this horse of mine. He used 
to break the fence, so I took him 
and fed him well. Any Horse 
might improve his condition that 
way." 

"The Horses are all right," said a 
Horse Breeder, " except for inherent 
badness. They should be content 
with the condition in which Provi- 
dence, and we, for our own wise 
purposes, have placed them." 

Many of the Horses died, and 
their bodies began to breed a plague. 
" This," said the Riders, "is intoler- 
able. Something must be done." 
So they bought scent bottles for 
themselves. 

They established a day nursery 

110 



to care for young Colts while their 
Mothers were tilling the Riders' 
fields, and the Horses were looking 
for work. 

They made a Hospital where sick 
Horses were experimented upon, and 
their corpses dissected gratis ; and 
the diseased and ricketty Horses, 
instead of dying off, produced off- 
spring still more miserable. 

They established a Fresh Air 
Fund to take the Colts (for a week) 
from the fetid pen. This looked 
rather inadequate, yet what saving 
of life it made still further over- 
crowded the pen. 

They built model stables. These 
seemed to take up still more room. 
They established charitable employ- 
111 



ment bureaus, and taugtt tlie Colts 
to do Horses' work. 

They gave tliem salt at cost, and 
Horse labor became cheaper yet. 
They gave free food. Then some 
the Horses said, ^^If we can live 
without working, why should we 
work at all ?" These they called 
tramps. 

And, seeing that some Horses, 
being hungry, would steal, and 
being tormented, become vicious, 
they made prisons so fine that all 
the Horses wanted to escape into 
prison. 

They made Sanatariums and 
Solariums. They helped the help- 
less, which then became more help- 
less still. Finally a cry was raised 

112 



that the Horses were being Pauper- 
ized. 

Said the Master of a Pen at 
Detroit : " We should let each de- 
serving Horse use a vacant lot, so 
that Horses can get their own fresh 
air and food. They will live cleanly 
on the land. Do not bring the hay 
to them, but let them gather for 
themselves, and care for their own 
colts." 

The Riders said that would be an 
interesting Experiment — if on a 
small scale — and appointed from 
the Association for Improving the 
Condition of the Horses, a Com- 
mittee on the Cultivation of Vacant 
Lots by the Unemployed. 



113 



XXVIIL 

THE FEUITS OF WRONGS. 

A PRIMITIVE man went out to 
sow ; and in the minds of men he 
sowed that which was dear to his 
heart (for what can a man sow else ?). 
And the seeds were Injustice and 
Deceit, and he fenced them about 
with Violence. 

Then he kneeled down and 
prayed : " Lord, guard the fields 
which I have planted. Let Thine 
Arms defend them, and let the sanc- 
tions of Thy Church overshadow 
them." 

lU 



Afterward he was gathered to 
his fathers, and thorns came up, and 
his children tended the thorns. 

^^For," they said, ^^ there was a 
desert of sand where nothing 
was, and in it our Father made 
these trees to grow." 

But the thorns tore their tender 
skins. They said one to the other : 
"These thorns have done much 
good. But for them the winds had 
swept the whole country into the 
sea ; therefore they will some time 
bring forth grapes." And they 
nurtured them carefully. 

The thorns grew rank and pierced 
the hands of the children. 

They said: "We shall never 
root up that which our holy father 

115 



planted. It is necessary to society.'' 
And they propped up the branches 
with laws. They made benevolent 
institutions under the shadow of 
them, and on the sharp points they 
put little loaves of bread. " Surely," 
said they, "it is our tree and 
it bringeth forth good fruit." 

And the poisonous thorns festered 
in their flesh. They said, " Culture 
is everything," and they gathered 
grapes of the Vine of Love, and tied 
them on the thorns. 

"Did we not say," they cried, 
"that our thorns would one day 
bring forth grapes ?" 

But the grapes withered, and the 
hungry scoffed at them, and called 
them Alms. 

116 



Some of them cut off the points 
and the tall branches, and from 
them fetid sap dripped down like 
clots of blood ; but yet the thorns 
grew thicker and longer and stronger 
still. 

The children prayed, and said: 
"Lord, these were planted by 
ancient sages, and we have made the 
soil about them good. Have we 
not nurtured them, oh, so carefully, 
with tears and blood ! Surely now, 
O Lord, shall our thorns bring forth 
grapes." 

But it came to pass that the Fire 
swept over them, and in the fire 
which licked up the thorns many 
good trees were burned, and in 
their place was left nothing but 

U7 



blackened stumps. And many of 
the children died in that fire. 

The children said : " We had 
the best Intentions; they should 
have brought forth grapes." 



,^18 



XXIX. 

A DIVIDED INHERITANCE. 

A CERTAIN Laboring Man died 
and presented himself at the gate 
of Heaven. The Gatekeeper said : 
'' There is no room." " No room ?" 
said the Laborer. "But is it not 
written ^ I go to prepare a place 
for you V Did He not prepare one ?" 
'^ Well, yes," said Peter. "He did, 
but you see that was long ago, and 
since then all such places have been 
taken up. We are overcrowded 
now." " But," the poor man urged, 
"surely I see a vacant lot over 
there." "True," answered the 

119 



Keeper, "but that belongs to one 
of the Disciples ; he has had it for 
nearly two thousand years; cer- 
tainly, if anything does, that gives 
him a good title. You can hear 
him singing 'My Country 'tis of 
thee, sweet land—'" " Well," in- 
terrupted the applicant, "is not 
that an unused field right next the 
gate r 

^^Yes," replied the Gatekeeper, 
"but that is the property of the 
Apostles. You know it was prom- 
ised that to him who left houses 
and lands for the Truth's sake they 
should be restor^ed sevenfold : that 
is their portion : you would not de- 
prive us — them, I mean, of their 
hard-earned property ?" 

120 



" Up there on the wall," the Man 
persisted, " there is a place where I 
could stay — I would not be in any- 
body's way," 

Said the Keeper of the Gate: 
" You could, if you had anything to 
pay the rent, but I perceive that 
you have ^ taken nothing with you.' " 

" That is the way it is done on 
God's Earth," said the Laborer, " but 
here I supposed that men were not 
so selfish and would let me live." 

'^ Now, my dear Brother," gently 
replied the Apostle, " don't talk like 
that. We are not selfish ; we would 
be glad to help you, but we must be 
reasonable. If these Saints were to 
let people go there rent free, why 
all the City would flock up there, 

121 



and we would get no ground rent at 
all for any of our mansions. Selfish ! 
why, there is no selfishness here, but 
we are just to ourselves and to each 
other«" 

" See here," said the Laborer dis- 
contentedly, " how did these people 
come to own the promised land in 
the first place ?" 

The good Peter looked a little un- 
easy. " Well," he answered, '^ some, 
I am afraid, did not get it very 
honestly — that was in the time of 
Lucifer. I don't remember having 
heard of any grant from the Creator, 
and I have heard something about the 
Kingdom of Heaven being taken by 
force, but it is now nearly all in the 
hands of innocent purchasers." 

122 



^^ Then/' said the Laborer, ^^'11 
take some by f orce.'^ " Oh, no/' 
says Peter, " that wouldn't do. Time 
and we have sanctioned the titles, 
and to take them away would be 
confiscatioUc You haven't read the 
Duke of Argyll's essay, I think, nor 
Huxley, nor Spencer, nor even a late 
book of Mr. Lecky's, have you ?" 

" Are those some of the Saints ?" 

" Well, not our Saints," was the 
answer, " but — in fact," says Peter, 
"you don't understand these 
things." 

Said the Laborer: "Why won't 
God make some more room here ?" 

Peter hesitated. "He did make 
more room some years ago, but the 
Prophets saw how valuable it would 

123 



be, and therefore laid claim to it all, 
so it didn't seem to do mucli good.'' 

'^ And where shall I go ?" says the 
Laborer. 

Said Peter: "Well, really it 
seems strange, but I don't think 
there is any provision in Earth or 
in Heaven for the man who only 
makes things and doesn't own the 
Land." 

Then said the Man : '^ I see that 
knowlege of the way, rather than 
regeneration of the heart, is needed 
in order that all may share in the 
bounties of the Lord." 



124 



XXX. 

ALL VEEY GOOD. 

Honestly and without self-seet 
ing I had been doing good in the 
world. Yet it seemed to me that 
things grew worse instead of better, 
and for myself I knew that I was 
growing old. 

I looked for no reward of all my 
sacrifice. It seemed to me that I 
might have found a little gratitude, 
but there was none. Each seemed 
to expect a full return for all he 
gave or did. I said to myself that 
it was even so with the children of 

125 



light — do not they also look for a 
heavenly crown ! For myself I 
required no crown, but only that I 
might see the work of my hands 
and be satisfied. 

And, because I was utterly sick of 
envy, and suspicion, and of human 
selfishness, I went out into the forest. 
There man was not, and all was 
beautiful. I lay down under a tree 
and looked up at the leaves and 
thought that every one of these was 
unremembered, as was I ; but there 
the likeness ended, for with them 
all was in the order of Nature, just 
as it ought to be. 

It was very still, and I heard the 
leaves murmuring to themselves 
that it was near their fall, and that 

126 



nothing had been done in their 
lives ; each chafed against another, 
yet through them came the breath- 
ing of the tree. 

They told each other that the 
blossoms, which were so beautiful, 
had fallen. They had sheltered the 
blossoms, and watched them kiss and 
marry with each other; but now 
death had taken them, and death — 
the leaves shivered. 

The wind stirred the tree and 
some of the leaves fell. The others 
trembled forlorn on the branches, 
and sighed that their time was 
drawing nigh. 

The leaves lay moldering on the 
ground. The wind died down 
again ; and it was very stilL And 

127 



in the silences a voice came whisper- 
ing through the stiffening boughs 
that when these dead leaves are 
ready for their higher use, the tree 
will touch them with its roots, and 
take them up again into itself ; that 
upon man and upon nature is the 
blessing and the curse ; that men are 
also part of nature and that the 
faultiest of men are in the Plans of 
God. 

I looked attentively at the leaves 
and found not one unbroken or 
without a spot. But as the light 
shone on them, each itself and alto- 
gether; they were beautiful. The 
voice shaped into words for me my 
wandering thoughts, and I went out 
to preach that men are but as leaves, 

128 



through every one of which God 
breathes, and every one draws higher 
up the strength of God ; and every 
leaf God uses to express himself. 
By every one of them he brings 
forth fruit. 



129 



XXXI. 

THE KINGDOM AT HANDo 

LoNa before Moses was born, says 
a fable, a certain Hebrew opened his 
eyes and saw how the people sighed 
under oppression, and he said, " We 
are on the borders, let us rise up 
and be free." The people stared 
stupidly at him and bent again to 
their tasks. He repeated, '^ We 
have but to go over the Red Sea, 
and our bondage will be at at an 
end." They answered, " You are 
a Visionary and a Revolutionist; 
would you upset Society ?" 

130 e 



But the Visionary agitated the 
more. He would not be stilled. 

The high priests of Monopoly 
said, " He teaches confiscation. Did 
not the rulers buy this people with 
their hard - earned money ? The 
laws of nations have sanctioned the 
purchase." 

He answered, ^^Let us go that we 
may serve the Lord." 

The Lawyers said, " This man is a 
crank — a monomaniac — yet he is 
right ; we would like to see this ex- 
periment of Liberty tried — some- 
where — on a small scale." 

The Monomaniac cried, " We are 
more and mightier than they. We 
will not submit to a few." 

A certain Philosopher of the 

131 



Egyptians said, "Yes, theoretically 
he is right. We never had any 
title, and if this rabble will com- 
pensate us for what we have spent 
on feeding them, and on their sick, 
and on their little ones, they should 
be set at liberty »" This Revolu- 
tionist repeated, "Let my people 
go." 

Others of the Wise Men mur- 
mured, " It is we who rob them, not 
they who would rob us. They are 
entitled to freedom — but they can 
never attain it. Why, then, inflame 
the classes?" 

This Incendiary shouted, "You 
have no right to us, nor to our chil- 
dren, that we should be your serv- 
ants.'' 

132 



The Egyptians said, "There is 
injustice ; the people suffer, but we 
cannot help it. Let us establish 
charities that they may be more 
contented — lest this people should 
rebel.'' 

So they sent a few children to 
the country for a week, and they 
established Hospitals, and Professors 
taught the people. But the people 
grew more discontented and tur- 
bulent still. They instituted strikes 
here and there, and the Egyptians 
said, ^'This is Anarchy," and put 
them to the sword. The old Priests 
said, "The Promises are Parables. 
Still, we may let these laborers go 
— a little way into the wilderness." 
But the people were afraid and 

133 



would not go up into the land to 
possess it 

Many thousands whispered, 
"What the Seer tells us is true; 
but," each one added, '^ I am only 
one, and what can one do alone ?" 

Some of the Israelites said, " Yes, 
we must be free, but it will not be 
in our time. We want no theories. 
Shorten our hours, inspect our 
dwellings and give us old age 
pensions." 

This crack-brained Theorist an- 
swered, " Seek ye first the Kingdom 
of God and His just doing, and all 
things shall be added unto you." 

So they blasphemed among them- 
selves endlessly, saying, " Ours is an 
evil world, and in it there is no 

134 



better state." "You must change 
human nature before we go." " That 
would be the Millennium." " This 
Promised Land is but a dream, or it is 
so far off that it is not worth while 
to start." And they disputed to- 
gether about money, and tariffs, and 
factory regulations. 

This Dreamer answered, "We 
lack nothing but the Promised 
Land." And when they would not 
hear, the Dreamer's heart was broken 
and he died, and even his name was 
forgotten, and his words were but 
dimly remembered. 

But, in the fullness of time, Moses 
was born, and he allied himself with 
God, and led the people out from 

135 



their bondage. Yet because the 
people are of little faith, and be- 
cause they will not go forward, 
they linger still upon the edge of 
the Promised Land. 



136 



THE REVEREND HEAVENLY HOLMES 

ON SIN. 

^'Dear brethren, not 'dear' 
only in the sense o£ dear at any 
price, but in the sense that an im- 
mense amount o£ the bounty of Grod 
and men is required to keep even 
the meanest of you. My text this 
morning is, ' The heart is deceitful 
above all things and desperately 
wicked.' 

' ' Now the heart is the symbol of 
the fleshly affection. These fleshly 
affections you have overcome, for, 

137 



i£ you had not, you never could live 
as you do, in the presence of so 
much misery. The allusion is, 
therefore, of course, to the lower 
classes, who have still some heart 
left^ to ' the poor that we have 
always with us,' or, as we prefer 
to render the verse, ^ that we shall 
have always with us,' or, at least, 
that we intend to have. 

^ ^ It makes us shudder to think 
how wicked the rest of the world 
really is. I turn to the report of 
the New York Charity Organiza- 
tion Society, for a copy of which 
each one of you, my brethren, 
should write to the United Vil- 
lanies Building in New York City. 
Their table of statistics shows that 
of those who come under their 



138 



notice as needing alms, no less 
than forty per cent, are between 
tlie ages o£ twenty and forty-five, 
tlie prime of life ; and nearly 
seventy per cent, are married 
couples. Think of the abyss of 
wickedness which makes married 
persons in the heyday of life 
willing to accept alms. We 
are careful to explain to all 
such that what they need is ^ not 
alms, but a friend ' ; it is much 
cheaper. 

^ ^ But the worst is yet to come ; 
these people throw upon us the 
care of their children. Nearly all 
the rest of the indigent are children 
under fourteen years of age, and 
this, notwithstanding the efforts of 
the Children's Aid Societies, which 

139 



kindly imprison self - dependent 
children. 

^ ^ Three in every two hundred 
of the applicants to this society are 
single men, — men too wicked, too 
deceitful to marry. 

^^ My brethren, did you ever re- 
flect that these people are our own 
— eh — tenants ; they are laborers. 
We look after them to see how 
they are getting on, and if they 
seem to be in danger of becoming 
rich and forgetting Grod, we raise 
their rents. Then they come to 
our societies, and practically de- 
mand that a part of what we have 
gotten as our legal rent should be 
returned to them as charity. It 
is no less than an attack upon the 
propertied classes. 

140 



^^ But, my brethren, ^ Grodliness 
is profitable for all things/ and 
charity is more so. Charity is a 
saving grace. All that we give 
to these wretches is returned into 
our bosoms with tenfold interest. 
We get it back first in our pay- 
rolls. Because, where two of 
these wicked have to compete for 
a job, the one that can live the 
cheapest by using all aids will be 
able to underbid the other. And 
charity is returned again into our 
bosoms, in our rents. For, since 
we righteous — that is, respectable 
— people own all the land, we can 
charge as rent all that our tenants 
can afford to pay. Charity en- 
ables them to pay more, and 
also attracts population to our 

141 



city, so that they have to pay 
it. 

^^It is the poor, you see, that 
are depraved and discontented 
with the situation in which Provi- 
dence, through our agency, has 
put them. Ay, regardless o£ the 
blessings promised by Holy Writ 
to the poor, in the next world, they 
madly strive to get rich. Instead 
o£ being willing to render humble 
and efficient service to us and to 
Grod, they strive to rise above their 
stations in life. Like the servant 
with one talent who ^ hid it in the 
earth ' and lost all, they are 
always seeking to invest in land, 
so that they will not have to work 
for us. 

^ ^ But it is the blessed privilege 

142 



o£ Cliristian men to sell tliem out- 
lying lots, and it is tlie special 
duty o£ tlie Churcli to soothe tlieir 
restlessness wlien tlie devil puts it 
into tlieir hearts that they are 
robbed under the forms of law. 

^^ Therefore, my brethren, be 
^ fervent in spirit, not slothful in 
business,' especially in church fairs 
and at the charity ball, for in so 
doing you are laying up treasures 
in heaven and getting the interest 
on them on earth/' 



143 



XXXIII. 

Tolstoy's ideal of true life. 

Under the cold, dry earth grew a 
little root; yet it was the root of a 
great Tree; and around the Tree 
the plain was bare. 

The root pushed up toward the 
light and heat; while its fellows 
pushed toward the water under- 
neath. 

When the root came to the light, 
it burst into a shoot, and put out a 
green top, and the shoot said, " All 
the plain is bare, and I am far from 
the tree; I can do nothing.'' 
Nevertheless it pushed upward. 

144: 



A drove of cattle passed by, and 
trampled down the little top, and it 
said, " This is death, and I have ac- 
complished nothing." 

Nevertheless, the root drew 
strength from the great Tree, and 
blossomed again into a shoot. 

At last it pushed high up, and 
then it saw other shoots peeping 
from the ground about the Tree. 

And some of them withered away 
and moldered on the earth, but 
some waxed strong, and spread, and 
the branches covered all the plain. 

The tree is God, the root is Life, 
the light is Love — and the shoots 
are ourselves, my Brothers. 



145 



TRUE LIFE 



TRUE LIFE. 



I. 

FALSE IDEAS OF LIFE. 

Each lives for his own good — To get 
this, seemingly involyes conflict with others 
— And if we get this ^^ good/' it is unsatis- 
factory — And ends with Death — Yet we 
think it will bring happiness — This is a 
mistake, and if true, would be unnatural 
— Such is the teaching of the Prophets — 
Scientists teach that our own good is the 
object of life — So-called Christians teach 
that attainment of a future life is the ob- 
ject of this present life — Each thinks some 
other knows what good is — Science says it 
is exercise of faculty — Christian pessimists 
say that there is no good in this life — It 
is not better to live for others unless their 

149 



lives are worth living for — We know that 
we should have happiness^ yet we find it 
unattainable — ^This is because our aim is 
not even a single one — We seek animal 
good, but long only for spiritual good- 
Yet in subjecting material desires to the 
higher nature, we can find satisfaction — 
The Higher Reason shows us how to do 
this — This is the message of all the great 
religious teachers — The study of matter 
will not teach us the true end of life. 

You and I live for our own good ; 
each of us seeks for the conditions 
which will make us happy, for we 
cannot imagine life without the 
desire for happiness. 

We find, however, that all other 
persons also live for their own par- 
ticular good, which they too, think 
will bring happiness to themselves ; 
and they believe that this good of 

150 



theirs requires the sacrifice of your 
desires and mine. For the sake of 
such good, and for their own petty 
happiness, living beings are willing 
to deprive other beings of greater 
happiness and even of life itself, so 
that every one is always contending 
against hosts of others. At the end 
of the struggle we see Death, which 
we believe to be the loss of con- 
sciousness, or at best, a change to a 
spirit life, w^hich seems to us a 
strange and terrible transforma- 
tion. 

Though we succeed in the strug- 
gle, we feel that the good which 
we seek would be incomplete, even 
if it were to last; and we know 
that it will not last, that the good 

151 



which we seek will be but for a 
moment in our hands. 

Feeling only our own desires, we 
imagine that the good for which we 
live and true happiness are the 
same. 

We shall find, as we go on, that 
this must be a mistake. 

True happiness cannot consist in 
seeking our own good, nor, even un- 
consciously in trading off our work 
intended by us to do good to others, 
for their work designed by them to 
do good to us. Nor is such selfish- 
ness as that really natural at all. 
In truth, to seek the happiness of 
others and to sacrifice our own 
desires for the good of others is as 
natural to uncorrupted men as it is 

152 



for an animal to sacrifice its life in 
defending its young. 

Such is the gospel of all great 
religious teachers. Herbert Spen- 
cer and other scientific men deny 
this doctrine, saying that the object 
of life is simply the satisfaction of 
our desires. The Christian pessi- 
mists also deny this doctrine, saying 
that, futile as is the plan of life, it 
can be amended by faith in a future 
life — to be carried out more perfect- 
ly, but on the same principles. 

What is life and what is the good 
in life which will give us happi- 
ness? Each one thinks some one 
else must know, and so he follows 
the observances which he sees some 
other follow. 

153 



Science answers that life is the 
struggle of persons, races, and 
species for existence ; and that the 
good of life is success in that strug- 
gle, ^Hhe highest exercise of fac- 
ulty." This is the answer of those 
whom we may call the Scribes. 

Ecclesiastical teachers, who are 
like the Pharisees, generally answer 
that happiness consists only in the 
hope of a future life, for, say they, 
there is not, and never can be, good 
in this life. 

The time has already come when 
it is clear to all who will consider 
it, that the idea of renouncing this 
life for the sake of preparing for a 
life for one's self beyond, is a 
delusion. 

154 



It is no improvement on this to 
say that it is good to live for myself 
in the present, for experience 
teaches us that our individual life, 
if so used, is evil and senseless. 
Nor is it better to live for the fam- 
ily, for society, for one's country, or 
even for mankind. If the life of 
each person is miserable and sense- 
less, then the life of any collection 
of persons is also miserable and 
senseless, for the mass is no better 
and no more worthy of sacriJSce 
than are the individuals which make 
up the mass. 

Men believe that life consists of 
a desire for happiness for them- 
selves and for those about them, 
but they feel that to all, evil and 

165 



death will come. We all know 
that we must live, yet we find cir- 
cumstances such as make it impos- 
sible to have a perfect animal life, 
and so, appreciating no other life 
than that of the animal, there be- 
gins a strife with ourselves which 
results in misery. We have an un- 
easy feeling that what we think 
and desire about life is not right. 
But insects and beasts, which sub- 
mit to the law of their being, have 
no such struggle, and live a Joyous 
and tranquil life. 

We, however, are surrounded by 
conditions and circumstances which 
make a perfect life an impossibility 
— that is, of the kind which unrea- 
soning feeling demands. Striving 

156 



for two objects, when it is possible 
to attain only one, produces an in- 
evitable struggle which is the cause 
of most of our unhappiDess, and 
which creates in thinking minds 
restlessness in regard to the myste- 
ries of life. These can be removed 
only by willingly subjecting our- 
selves to the law of our higher 
being. 

Our difficulty arises from con- 
fusing our animal life with our true 
life— that is, with the spiritual life. 
Of both these existences we are 
conscious ; the natural life we know 
by the feeling that we exist; the 
spiritual life we know by the feel- 
ing that we love. We feel that 
there are in us two contradictory 

157 



natures ; but we know that there is 
only one true life. 

This seeming contradiction in 
ourselves recalls the sensation of 
one who, crooking two fingers, one 
over the other, rolls a little ball 
between them, and/<^^fe as if there 
were two balls, but 'knows that 
there is only one. 

The renunciation of personal hap- 
piness, followed by life in accord- 
ance with the higher nature, is as 
natural to man as is flying to a bird. 
If the bird wills only to run, that 
fact does not prove that it is not the 
bird's nature to fly. So if we see 
about us, men with unawakened 
minds, men who think that their 
lives consist in securing their own 

158 



happiness, it is not thereby proved 
that there is no higher life. To 
search for our good in gratifications 
for our own selves is to make our- 
selves like an animal which might 
think that its life consists in sub- 
mitting to the laws of gravity by 
not moving, but which is fretted, 
nevertheless, by appetite and desire 
for exercisCc 

This state of dissatisfaction must 
come to every one who thinks; so 
we say that ^Hhought is pain ;" and 
every one thinks to himself, ^' I am 
a strange mixture.'' It can be es- 
caped only by a merely animal ex- 
istence, or by seeking the new and 
better life. 

Some never look up from their 

159 



muck rakes; but if one does and 
sees for a moment that there is a 
better life, he can never again satisfy 
himself with the worse. 

The source of this dissatisfaction 
lies mainly in this, that, while the 
things for which we strive con- 
sciously should be attained as un- 
consciously as is digestion, that for 
which we should strive consciously 
is either unknown to us or disre- 
garded by us. 

The higher reason which the 
Bible calls Wisdom (logos), is the 
only guide we have to a true life. 

The fact that the insignificant 
teachings of Aristotle, Bacon, Comte 
and others remain, and always will 
remain, the property of a few, 

160 



can never control the masses, and 
are therefore never corrupted by- 
superstitions, is considered by- 
learned men to be proof of their 
truth. But the teachings of the 
Brahmins, of Zoroaster, Lao-dzi, 
Confucius and Christ, which in their 
essence are really one, are accounted 
superstitions, merely because they 
have changed the lives of millions. 
The real teaching of these men, 
though in varying degrees of per- 
fection, is that the true life is more 
than the life of the body ; which is 
the sum of all human wisdom. 

Reason has been directed toward 
the discovery of truth by the study 
of the origin and history of man- 
kind, and to the circumstances with 

161 



which mankind is surroundedc 
Later, we have taken to studying 
the minds of men by the laws of 
matter, in the hope that thereby we 
may learn the cause of man's 
activity. 

These studies are instructive; but 
from them we cannot find the true 
meaning of life; any more than a 
tree, if it could study the physical 
and chemical changes which take 
place in it, could learn from them 
the theory of collecting and distrib- 
uting sap for the growth of the 
leaves and fruit So the study of 
these laws will not afford us the 
slightest guidance as to what to do 
with a bit of bread in our hands ; 
whether to give it to our daughter, 

162 



to a stranger, to the dog, or to eat 
it ourselves ; whether to defend this 
bit of bread or to give it to the first 
who demands it. But really, living 
is entirely made up of decisions of 
this and similar questions. On such 
decisions happiness depends. 

Things at a distance seem simple 
because we cannot see the complex- 
ity of their details, and such things, 
therefore, attract our attention, 
while that which is seen close at 
hand appears complex. According- 
ly, men think that they understand 
what happiness is, and what time 
and matter are, but that they do 
not understand themselves. 

In the case of a mere animal, sound 
reason consists only in care for its 

163 



physical well-being. So, we can 
understand tlie life of an animal, 
because we see in it, as in ourselves, 
a striving for happiness, and the 
necessity for it also to submit to 
reason. For we really know things 
not in proportion to how simple 
they are, or seem to be, but in pro- 
portion to their nearness of associa- 
tion with ourselves. 

Now, the true life of man, the 
better part, which all may choose, 
is found in that which is nearest to 
us, and therefore seems complicated, 
although it is really simple. It con- 
sists in control of the animal life by 
the reason. 



164 



II. 

THE LAW OF LIFE. 

The true theory of life — It seems 
abstruse, but is really self-evident — That 
true life consists in the control of the 
lower nature by the higher^ which is true, 
willing self-denial — If self-denial is will- 
ing it becomes a joy — The mere recognition 
of this truth is the first step toward the 
higher life — If the good which we seek be 
the good of others, it will not end at death 
— A life of this kind seems unnatural, but 
it really accords with the higher nature — 
The human race is making progress in 
this direction — Simple-minded men recog- 
nize this doctrine as reasonable, but 
'^ cultivation^^ hides it from our sight — 
The interdependence of the human family. 

To give up our own happiness as 
animals is tlie true law of life, al- 
ias 



though, on account of the complex* 
ity of our animal life (which we 
perceive because that life is near to 
us), it seems to us that the true ob- 
ject of all our life must be the satis- 
faction of bodily demands. But 
reason shows that this is not true. 
In the case of a mere animal, an 
activity which is opposed to its own 
welfare is renunciation of its life ; 
in the case of a man the reverse is 
true. 

If we do not renounce animal 
happiness willingly in our lives, we 
must renounce it unwillingly at our 
deaths. 

For, the body, with its occupa- 
tion and functions, is merely one of 
the instruments of life. The animal 

166 



exists througli force and matter in 
harmony with their laws, and to the 
animal that is all there is of life. 
A man exists in the same way, but 
to him that is only an incident of 
life. 

Renunciation of animal happiness 
is the law of man's life. If it be not 
accomplished freely, by submission 
to the higher reason, then it is ac- 
complished violently in every man 
at tlie death of the flesh, when, in 
consequence of the burden of suffer- 
ing, he desires only to escape from 
the torturing consciousness of a 
perishing personality, and to pass 
into another form of existence. 

Regeneration, or spiritual birth, 
consists in learning that animal hap> 

167 



piness is not the object of our lives. 
Those who have not had this birth 
can no more understand what it is 
than the dry seed can anticipate 
its bursting into a plant. 

Although feeling that happiness 
for himself is impossible, each man 
spends his life in pursuit of it. 
Though conscious that our effort is 
in vain, we strive to make others 
prefer our happiness to their own. 
But happiness can be obtained only 
by every one's preferring the good 
of others to his own ; only so can 
be ended the useless contest, in 
which we are all involved. To 
admit the truth of this doctrine, even 
if we cannot now put it in practice, 
is to abandon the false and material 

168 



object of life, which, the more we 
pursue it, gets further away. 

And, when we admit this doctrine, 
the fear of death vanishes, for that 
is but the fear of losing the happi- 
ness of life by the death of the 
flesh ; but if we can base our happi- 
ness on the happiness of others, 
then this death would not seem to 
be the discontinuance of happiness. 

" But," replies the troubled and 
erring heart of man, ^^that is not 
life. Eenunciation of life is sui- 
cide." Then rational feeling re- 
joins : " I know nothing about that. 
I know that such is the life of man, 
and that there is no other, and that 
there can be no other. I know that 
such a life is true life and happiness, 

169 



both for one person and for all the 
world.'' 

" I know that what you call enjoy- 
ment will become happiness for you, 
only when you shall not take for 
yourself^ but when others shall give 
of theirs to you; and that you 
will then recognize your enjoyments 
to be superfluous and irksome, as 
they really are, when you seize 
them for yourself. You will free 
yourself from actual sufferings, only 
when others, and not you yourself, 
shall release you from them. You 
cannot by yourself avoid sufferings 
in life. You know this ; even now, 
through fear of anticipated suffer- 
ings, you would deprive yourself of 
life itself, by suicidcc 

170 



"The more I love myself; and 
strive with others^" continues rational 
feeling, " the more will others hate 
me and the more viciously will they 
struggle with me ; the more I hedge 
myself in from suffering, the more 
torturing will it become, and the 
more I guard myself against death, 
the more terrible will it appear. I 
know that, whatever a man may 
do, he can attain to no happiness 
until he shall live in harmony with 
the law of his life." 

A reasoning man cannot fail to 
see that if we admit the possibility 
of replacing the striving for our own 
happiness with a striving for the 
happiness of other beings, life will 
become rational and happy. Until 

171 



we do see this our lives are all 
poverty stricken and valueless. 

Humanity is making some prog- 
ress in this direction, for those who 
have been in the habit of killing 
other creatures are beginning to 
^^ exploit " them, or to tame them, 
and to kill fewer of them, and to 
subsist on the eggs and milk, rather 
than on the flesh. They are learn- 
ing to restrain their destructiveness. 
For the same reason we condemn 
the search for mere gratification, 
and we approve abstinence, and 
worship self-sacrifice for the good of 
others. 

We recognize, in short, that there 
is no good but Love. 

Simple men, who labor with their 

172 



hands, more generally acknowledge 
that the best life is to give them- 
selves for others. It is the '^culti- 
vated " intellects which defend self- 
ishness on economic or philosophic 
or moral grounds. They give their 
time to gratifying the appetites for 
knowledge, or power, or beauty; in 
trying to satisfy wants and desires 
which grow stronger the more they 
are recognized. It is not by culti- 
vating and stimulating these, and 
then trying to satisfy them, that 
happiness is to be obtained ; but 
rather by discarding desires and 
submitting to true reason. 

These " desires " are as numerous 
as the radii of a circle, and can 
never be satisfied ; one who looks in 

173 



the shops, or in the libraries, may- 
realize that all the things that a 
man does show the existence of de- 
sires ; but even one of them, if dwelt 
upon, may take possession of a man's 
whole being. 

How can it be otherwise when 
our acknowledged teachers admit 
that the highest perfection of man 
consists in the number and develop- 
ment of all sides of his refined de- 
sires. Such teaching makes men 
think that they feel only such de- 
sires, and that to renounce these is 
unnatural, and therefore impossible. 

(Note. — We know the saying of the 
Greek philosopher, ^^ I like to go to the 
market-place and see how many things 
there are, which I do not need.^^) 

174 



it is not, however, the renunciation 
of our individual desires that is re- 
quired, but their subjection to the 
higher, reason or ^^ Wisdom." Here- 
in is the true law of life. 

This belief is not merely an in- 
tellectual perception arrived at by 
study. If it were, it might be 
found by examining matter. It is 
a spiritual understanding, and is 
perceived by a spiritual illumina- 
tion, which can be had by any one 
who opens his soul to it by willing- 
ness to receive and act in accordance 
with the law of life. 

Entrance into life, and the course 
of life, is like the experience of a 
horse, which the master leads from 
the stable for harnessing ; on com- 

175 



ing out of the stable into the 
light, and scenting liberty, it seems 
to the horse that in that liberty is 
life, yet he is harnessed and driven 
off. He feels a weight behind him, 
and, if he thinks that his life consists 
in running at liberty, he begins to 
kick, falls down, and indeed may 
kill himself. But if he does not fall 
he has two alternatives left to him ; 
either he will go his way, and drag 
his load, finding that the burden is 
light to him, and that trotting is 
not a torment, but a joy ; or else he 
will kick himself free, and then his 
master will lead him to the tread- 
mill, and will fasten him by a hal- 
ter ; the platform will begin to slide 
beneath him, and he will walk in 

176 



the dark, confined to one place, suf- 
fering ; but his strength will not be 
wasted ; he will perform his unwill- 
ing labor, and the law will be ful- 
filled in him. The difference will 
lie in this, that the first work would 
be Joyful, but the second compul- 
sory and painful. 

The satisfaction of all simple 
normal wants is guaranteed to man, 
as it is to the bird and the flower ; 
provided that in his own sphere, 
man shall live a simple reasonable 
life, as they do in their spheres. 
(See Matthew vi. 20, to end.) 

The larger part of mankind be- 
lieves this truth, under the name of 
Buddhism ; but the vast spread of 
that religion renders it subject to 

177 



corruptions, and these corruptions 
are regarded by cultured persons as 
disproving the truth of the religion 
itself. 

The fact that the larger part of 
mankind does so understand the law 
of life, and gets from its observance 
quiet of mind ; and that it is im- 
possible to understand life in any- 
other w^ay, does not in the least 
trouble the Pharisees and Scribes : 
they think that progress and inven- 
tion have superseded such old-time 
^' theories." 

The Hindoo sees that there is a 
contradiction between the life for 
the flesh and the higher life, and he 
is solving it according to his light. 
So far he truly lives. But the 

178 



modern materialist is like a beast 
which does not yet perceive that 
there is any higher life. 

Yet the perception of the altru- 
istic life is the most valuable pro- 
duct of the experience of the ages. 

There is this distinction, how- 
ever, between the states of beasts 
and of men. The higher the animal 
is, the more complex are its parts 
and the more dependent are the 
parts upon each other. If a worm is 
cut in two, we have two worms ; if 
the higher animal is cut in two it is 
all dead. So with the state of man- 
kind. The bird and the fish live, 
from their nature, each to itself; 
each is but slightly dependent upon 
any other ; each suffers for its errors 

179 



mainly in itself. With the higher 
organism of Man the parts are more 
dependent upon each other. In- 
terior happiness, therefore, we can 
get each for himself, by opening our 
eyes to look for and follow our 
better nature. " Peace I give unto 
you," said Jesus. Exterior well 
being we can get only by inducing 
our fellows also to come out into 
the light. We are an army march- 
ing together, in which " no man 
liveth to himself and no man dieth 
to himself." 



180 



III. 

THE HIGHER LIFE. 

The pessimists cannot see that there is 
a higher life — The higher life is the life 
of self-sacrifice — This alone is a reasonable 
life— In each one^s heart is love which leads 
him toward such life — To make this our 
object, solves the apparent contradiction 
of life by making an end of self-seeking — 
Even the miseries of others, if we strive 
to relieve them, help us to higher life — 
Love seems, to many, a painful feeling, 
and as temporary as earthly life — This is be- 
cause they think of love only as a desire — 
Such love is but selfish care for my friends 
— Keal loving means the doing of good; 
not the getting of good at the expense of 
others — The self-sacrifice of such love has 
no limits — Nor does it discriminate 
between its objects — Nor does it favor our- 

181 



selves, even in order to enable further 
service — What is nsnally called love, how- 
ever, is only the preference of some ele- 
ments of one's own happiness to other 
elements — From this, however, real love 
may be developed. 

The argument of pessimistic phi- 
losophy, and of the commonplace 
suicides, is that there is one '' I," in 
which " I " there is an inclination 
for full animal life; and that this 
" I " and its inclination cannot pos- 
sibly be gratijfied. They think 
there is a second " I " which has no 
inclination for life, seeing the futility 
of it all. 

If, say they, I yield to the being 
which is inclining to animal life, I 
live senselessly ; there is no good in 
it ; if I yield to the being which 

182 



sees ^ the futility of life, there re- 
mains to me no desire for life (for 
the second " I " does not believe 
that it is good to live for God or 
for others) ; therefore, say such per- 
sons, when life becomes tiresome I 
leave it. This is "the darkness 
which comprehendeth not the light." 
This is the contradictory idea of 
life which men had reached before 
Solomon's time, before Buddha's, 
and to which false teachers like 
Schopenhauer and Hartmann would 
lead us back. 

The teaching of the Truth has 
ever been that mankind does possess, 
here and now, an inalienable and 
actual happiness, which is within 
the reach of every one. This is the 

183 



happiness whicli is familiar to every 
one, and to which every unperverted 
human soul is drawn. Children 
and the unsophisticated know the 
feeling which solves all the contra- 
dictions of human life, and gives the 
greatest possible happiness : this is 
Love. 

Love is one form of the animal 
nature brought under the rule of 
the higher law. Its highest devel- 
opment is the only reasonable activ- 
ity of mankind. 

The animal personality of man 
demands happiness ; true reason 
from the heart shows us the misery 
of strife ; shows us that there can be 
no happiness in selfishness ; and that 
the only real happiness possible 

184 



for us is one for whicli there shall 
be no contest, no satiety, and no 
endo 

And lo, like a key made for this 
one lock, each man finds in his own 
soul a feeling which gives him the 
very happiness which his reason- 
able heart tells him is the only pos- 
sible one. 

This Love not only solves the 
contradictions of life, but uses the 
contradictions of life to show itself ; 
for the animal individual suffers, 
and to remedy this suffering consti- 
tutes the chief activity of Love. 

The animal individual strives to 
use others, but Love gives itself to 
others, and inclines us to the ex- 
tremest sacrifice of our fleshly exist 

185 



ence for others, and so takes away 
the fear of death. 

" But," say those who see nothing 
in this life but the animal existence, 
"love involves pain while it lasts, 
and it will end." Therefore, to them 
love seems as lamentable and as 
deceptive as all other states of mind, 
though they recognize in it some- 
thing peculiar, and more important 
than the others ; often it seems to 
them something irregular and tor- 
turing. Something like this feeling 
must be the effect of the sunrise 
upon an owl. 

This misconception is because 
such persons think of Love as one 
only among the numberless desires 
of life, and not as the object of life, 

186 



They think that a man should some- 
times study, sometimes make money, 
sometimes love. They think only 
of that love which is a form of self- 
ishness ; the sacrificing of others for 
" my child/' or ^' my friend ;" that 
feeling which makes the father, to 
his own torture, take the last bit of 
bread from hungry men in order to 
provide for his own children. It is 
the feeling because of which he 
who loves a woman suffers through 
this love, and causes her to suffer, 
seducing her, or killing both him- 
self and her because of jealousy. 
It is the feeling which impels men 
belonging to one association, for the 
sake of upholding their own fellows, 
injure those of other associations. 

187 



It is the feeling wMcli makes 
a man render himself, and others 
miserable, also, over his favorite 
occupation. It is the feeling which 
renders a man unable to endure 
an insult to his '^ beloved " father- 
land, strewing therefore the plain 
with the dead and wounded of his 
own country and of otherSo 

But to love means to do good. 
For those whom w^e love we desire 
good, but we find that to get that 
good for them alone means the 
injury, or at least the neglect, of 
others. 

How far, then, am I to sacrifice 
myself for the service of others, and 
whom shall I serve? How much 
care may I now take of myself in 

188 



order to be able later, since I love 
others, to serve them ? 

This was the difficult question 
which the lawyer put to Christ, 
" Who is my neighbor ?'' For we 
must know that every happiness in 
the flesh is received by one person 
only at the expense of the possible 
happiness which might be obtained 
by another, or which, at least, might 
be given to another. 

How, then, are we to decide at 
whose expense, and in what degree, 
we shall help those whom it is 
necessary to serve ? All people, or 
our fatherland ? Fatherland, or our 
friends ? Our friends, or our own 
wives ? Our wives, or our children ? 
Our children, or (in order that we 

189 



may be able still further to serve 
others later) ourselves ? 

All these persons make demands 
of love, and all the demands are so 
interwoven that there is no possi- 
bility of serving some without de- 
depriving others. 

For these difficulties, that which 
the world calls love offers no solu- 
tion. 

Most of the evils among men 
spring from this feeling, falsely 
called love, and which is no more 
like real love than the life of the 
animal is like the life of man. 
What people generally call love is 
only the familiar preference of some 
elements of our personal happiness 
to other elements. When a man 

190 



says that he loves his wife or child 
or friend, he usually means merely 
that the presence of those persons 
heightens the happiness of his in- 
dividual life. 

But these feelings, preference for 
certain beings, or things, or occu- 
pations, cannot be called love ; for 
they have not the chief mark of 
love — activity, which has for its aim 
and end the happiness of the loved 
one. 

This violence of preference for 
some people over others is merely 
the stock upon which true love and 
its offshoots may be graftedo 



191 



IV. 

HOW TO ATTAIN^ IT. 

Real happiness begins only with the 
rebirth, when we recognize that the 
highest point is not to seek good for our- 
selves — when one can honestly say " For 
myself I want nothing" — Other love than 
this increases capacity for misery — Not by 
seeking means of happiness, and distribut- 
ing them to those whom we choose, but 
by renouncing them, is true good attained 
—It is to be had by grasping every oppor- 
tunity to benefit others regardless of our- 
selves — Love is the sacrifice of one^s self 
and one^s desires—This is the way to eternal 
life. Such spontaneous love is common 
among children — Older persons often do 
not recognize it at all, or prefer the 
animal love-— Life runs onward toward 
the destruction of the animal being — Yet 

192 



we strive in vain to preserve only that 
animal being — Partial snccess in such 
efforts brings, first satiety, then increasing 
pain, and ends in failure at death — The 
fear of death lies in the desire for a rich 
life — The enjoyments of such a life are at 
the expense of others, and preclude love — 
The increase of wants and the obtaining 
of things to allay them is useless and un- 
satisfying. 

The possibility of real love be- 
gins only when man has compre- 
hended that there is no happiness 
for his animal person. Only he 
understands genuine love who has 
not only understood, but has by 
his life confessed, that he who 
loves his soul loses it, and that he 
who hates his soul in this world 
preserves it to everlasting life. 

Love is the preference of other 

193 



beings to one's self, to one's animal 
personality. This state is a state 
of affection toward every person 
and toward every thing ; which is 
part of the life of children, but 
which, in grown persons, arises only 
on renunciation. This is the '^ con- 
fessing of Christ," in our lives. 

But, let every man try, at least 
once, at a moment when he is ill- 
disposed toward other people, to 
say to himself, honestly and from 
his soul, ^'It is all the same to 
me, I need nothing ;" and even if 
only for a time, to desire nothing 
for himself ; and every man will 
learn, through this simple inward 
experiment, how instantaneously, in 
proportion to the honesty of his 

194 



renunciation, all malevolence will 
disappear. Let him notice how 
afterward, affection toward all peo- 
ple and all things will gush from 
his heart, which until that time was 
sealed. This process corresponds in 
some degree with the "denial of 
evil " of " Christian science." 

But, if he would find full happi- 
ness, he must not stop there. In 
order entirely unselfishly to love any 
one it is first necessary to forgive 
every one, those who have injured 
us, and those who treat us unjustly. 
We must do more than that ; we 
must cease to desire their merited 
punishment and wish them well, 
even in the enjoyment of their ill- 
gotten gains. The thought that the 

195 



wicked must suffer in this life or in 
another, is born of our desire that 
they should. This we must put 
away from us. It may well be that 
a lower evil nature gets in its 
wrongdoing the highest happiness 
of which it is capable, Just as the 
cuckoo, devoid of affection for its 
young, does not in consequence 
suffer, but only loses the unspeak 
able Joy of maternity, of which it 
could not even conceive. When we 
accept the order of Nature showing 
forth God's infinite kindness, and so 
free our hearts of all bitterness; 
when we will do this, begins for us 
the real sweetness of life. 

Only from such universal affec- 
tion can spring up genuine love for 

196 



certain persons^ one's own relatives 
or strangers. Sucli love alone 
solves the apparent contradiction of 
tlie animal to the reasonable exist- 
ence. 

Any Love which has not for its 
foundation the renunciation of indi- 
viduality, and, as a consequence, 
affection for every one, is merely the 
life of the animal, and is subject to 
the same misery and to even greater 
miseries, and to still greater folly, 
than is life without this fictitious 
love. The feeling of passion, called 
love does not remove the conflict of 
existence, does not free an individ- 
ual from the pursuit of enjoyments, 
and does not save from death ; but, 
on the contrary, merely darkens life 

197 



still more embitters the strife, aug- 
ments the thirst for pleasures for 
one's self and for others, and in- 
creases the terror of death for one's 
self and for others. 

The man who seeks his life in 
the happiness of his animal person, 
who increases, during the whole 
course of his life, the means of ani- 
mal happiness, by acquiring wealth 
and hoarding it, will make others 
contribute to his animal happiness, 
and will distribute that happiness 
among those individuals who are 
most useful to him for the welfare 
of his own person. But how is he 
to give up his life, when his life is 
supported not by himself, but by 
other persons ? And still more diffi- 

198 



cult will it be for him to decide to 
which of the persons whom he pre- 
fers, he should give the benefits 
which he has attained. 

Before he shall be in a condition 
to love, that is, to do good, sacrific- 
ing himself, he must cease to hate, 
that is, to do evil ; and he must 
cease to prefer some persons to others 
for the sake of the happiness of his 
own person. 

The happiness of the life of a 
man who has acted thus through love 
is as natural as is the well-being 
of a plant in the light. As the 
covered plant cannot inquire, and 
would not in any way inquire, in 
what direction it is to grow, or 
whether the light is good, or whether 

199 



it must not wait for some other and 
better light, but takes the only 
light that exists, and stretches 
toward it — so the man who has re- 
nounced individual happiness does 
not argue about how much he must 
give up of that of which he has 
deprived other people, and to what 
beloved beings he should give it ; 
and whether there is not some bet- 
ter love than the one which makes 
the demand, but gives himself, his 
being, to the love which is acces- 
sible to him and w^hich lies before 
him. Only such love gives full 
satisfaction to the reasoning nature 
of man. 

Love is love only when it is the 
denial of one's self. Only when one 

200 



^vesto another, not merely his time 
and his strength, but when he spends 
his body for the beloved one, 
gives up his life for him — only this 
do we all acknowledge as love ; and 
only in such love do we all find hap- 
piness, the reward of love. 

Exactly in this manner does every 
laborer for the good of others give 
his body for the nourishment of 
another, when he exhausts himself 
with toil, and brings himself nearer 
to death. But such love is possible 
only to the man who knows no 
limit to the sacrifice, either of him- 
self, or of those beings nearest and 
dearest to him. 

" ' Thou shalt love the Lord thy 
Grod with all thy heart, and with all 

201 



thy soul, and with all thy mind.' 
This is the first and great command- 
ments And the second is like unto 
it : ^ Thou shalt love thy neighbor 
as thyself.' " Thus, from the old 
Testament, quoted the lawyer. And 
Jesus replied, " Thou hast answered 
right, this do" — that is, love God 
and thy neighbor — and thou shalt 
live. (Matthew xxii. 36-38, with 
Luke X. 27-8.) 

" We know that we have passed 
from death to life," says a disciple 
of Christ, "because we love the 
brethren." (I John iii. 14.) True 
and real love is the life itself. 

Who among living people does 
not know that blissful sensation 
which is most frequently experi> 

202 



enced during early childhood, before 
the soul is choked up with the lie 
which stifles the life in us ? Who 
does not know that blessed feeling 
of emotion, even if but once expe- 
rienced, during which one desires to 
love everybody, both those near 
to him, his father and mother, his 
brothers, and wicked people, and 
his enemies, and his dog, and his 
horse, and a blade of grass? This 
is the light which Walt Whitman 
came to show. When a man feels 
thus he desires one thing- — ^that it 
should be well with everybody, that 
all should be happy, and, still, more, 
he desires that he himself may act so 
that it may be well with all ; that 
he may give himself and his whole 

203 



life to making others comfortable 
and happy. And this, and this 
alone, is that love in which lies the 
Life of Man. 

This love manifests itself in the 
soul of man as a hardly perceptible, 
tender shoot, in the midst of coarse 
shoots of weeds resembling it, which 
are the various material desires of 
man, usually called love. It seems 
to men, and to the man himself, at 
first, that from this shoot must 
grow the tree of real love in which 
the birds shall shelter themselves ; 
and it seems also that all the other 
shoots are of the same kind. 

Men prefer, at first, and cultivate 
the weeds, which grow faster ; and 
the one shoot of life is stifled and 

204 



languisliee; but what most fre- 
quently happens is even worse; 
men have heard that among the 
number of those shoots there is one 
which is genuine, life-giving, called 
Love, but not knowing which it is, 
they trample it down, and begin to 
rear another shoot from the weeds, 
calling this love. 

Worse yet, men seize the shoot 
with rough hands, crying : " Here 
it is, we have found it, now we 
know it, let us train it, love I love ! 
the most elevated sentiment, here it 
is !" And they begin to transplant 
it, to correct it ; and handle it ; 
and, fighting for it, crush it until 
the shoot dies before it has flowered. 
Then they say : " All this is non- 
205 



sense, folly, sentimentality." But 
Love needs but one thing — that 
men should not hide it from the 
sun of righteousness, which is an- 
other name for Justice, and wMcli 
alone will promote its growth. 

Yet man, who understands the 
merely visionary and delusive char- 
acter of the animal existence ; and, 
that setting free the one true life of 
love within him alone confers hap- 
piness — man whose whole physical 
existence is a gradual annihilation 
of his person, and who cannot but 
become aware of this on the ap- 
proach of that person to inevitable 
death, strives in every way to 
preserve that perishing existence, 
to gratify its desires, and thereby 

206 



Jeprives himself of the possibility of 
the only happiness in life, which is 
love. 

The activity of men who do not 
understand life, is always directed 
to a conflict for their ow^n existence, 
to the acquisition of enjoyments, to 
their own deliverance from suffer 
ing, or to the putting off of inevi- 
table death. 

But the increase of enjoyment 
itself increases the strain of con- 
flict and sensitiveness to suffering, 
and brings death nearer. 

In order to hide from themselves 
the approach of death, such men 
know but one means — -still further 
to increase pleasure. But the pleas- 
ures reach the limits where they 

207 



cannot be further increased; they 
pass into suffering and leave only 
sensitiveness to suffering, and terror 
of death, which approaches ever 
nearer and nearer. 

To those who do not understand 
life, the chief cause of this fear lies 
in the fact that what they regard as 
pleasures (all gratifications of a rich 
life), are of such a nature that they 
cannot be shared equally among all 
men ; they must, therefore, betaken 
from others, must be obtained by 
force, by evil, by destroying the 
possibility of that kindly inclination 
toward people which is the root of 
love. 

That kind of pleasure is always 
directly opposed to love, and the 

208 



more intense it is, the more it is 
opposed to love. So that the more 
intense the activity for the attain- 
ment of pleasure, the more impossi- 
ble becomes the only happiness 
accessible to men, which is love. 

It seems as though the increase 
of happiness proceeded from the best 
external arrangement of one's exist- 
tence. But the best external ar- 
rangement depends upon greater 
violence to other men, which ^3 
directly opposed to love. 

It seems as though the existence 
of a poor laborer or of a sickly 
man were evil, unhappy ; and the 
existence of a rich or healthy man 
good and happy : and men bend all 
the strength of their minds to escap- 

209 



ing an evil, unhappy, poor and 
sickly existence, and to obtaining 
for themselves a good, rich, healthy 
and happy one. They think that 
the advancement of mankind con- 
sists in devising and handing down 
better means to gain such a life; 
therefore men vie with one another 
in endeavoring to delay death, by 
maintaining, as well as possible, that 
pleasing life which they have in- 
herited from their parents, or by 
organizing for themselves a new 
and still more pleasurable life. All 
of which is erroneous and futile. 

Whatever crusts of prejudice, 
then, we have to break, however 
painful it may be, we must, each 
one of us, stamp into our own hearts 

210 



this truth, that there is no good but 
love and no evil but self-love. To 
these words alone, opens the door of 
Happiness. 



211 



THE EFFECT UPON OIsTE^S SELF. 

Truth cries out ^^ There is no death ^^ 
' — and man^s heart responds, '' There can 
be no death ^^ — To the unenlightened this 
seems an absurdity — Yet death is but a 
natural change — Former natural changes 
have proved so good that we desire to con- 
tinue the state into which we have come 
— Either, life consists in the common 
changes of nature — (This is the oldest 
thought of the world, now only re-stated 
— and if it were a true thought, continuous 
life would be terrible, not the natural 
order) — Or else life consists in the con- 
sciousness of each of us — ^We know that 
this consciousness began for each of us in 
countless ancestors — Why then should we 
think it will end with us? — What we really 
fear is the obliteration of this conscious- 
ness — We confuse the two, and think that 

212 



something unnatural will occur in nature, 
this we call ^^ death " — The apparent con- 
tradiction causes uncertainty and fear — 
Men fear natural death because it shows 
the need of a true life which they feel that 
they do not possess. The body is only an 
incident and expression of Consciousness, 
the thinking, feeling part is one^s true 
self — The body is not continuous, it is 
always changing — gradually, or in periods; 
and consciousness ends, day after day, in 
sleep — Hence consciousness cannot be 
dependent upon the body — Hence, our 
real self, which we fear to lose at death, 
cannot be dependent upon the body — This 
'^ self '' is that which likes and dislikes, 
and so becomes a part of the world — One^s 
self is that which loves — This is the 
essence — Everything that we think we can 
lose is but an accident — During changes 
our submission to the law of reason in- 
creases, and love and happiness grow pro- 
portionately. Knowing that we have 
received and developed our lives from a 
past which we do not see, we feel no fear 
about a future which we do not see — My 

213 



brother^s consciousness^ his self^, influenced 
me in this life; being dead, it still influ- 
ences me — That is, our relation still con- 
tinues and will forever continue — Un- 
developed men try to satisfy the longing 
for immortality by referring to the im- 
mortality of the race. We know ourselves 
only by our true life or consciousness — We 
see that this consciousness is subject to 
laws — Therefore we infer that what hap- 
pens in it is also subject to laws — And do 
not complain because we cannot see what 
is beyond our sight — Upon looking 
calmly at what is about us, it ceases to be 
gloomy or terrible. 

"There is no death/' says the 
voice of Truth. " I am the Resur- 
rection and the Life; he that be- 
lieveth in me, though he were dead, 
yet shall he live. And every one 
that liveth and believeth in me shall 
never die." 

^^ There is no Death," say all the 

214: 



great teachers of the world; and 
millions of men who understand life 
say the same, and bear witness to it 
with their lives. And every living 
man whenever Ids soul sees clearly, 
feels the same truth in his heart. 
But men who do not understand 
life, cannot do otherwise than fear 
death. They see it, and believe in 
it. 

" How is there no death ?" cry 
these people in wrath and indigna- 
tion. " This is sophistry ! Death 
is before us ; it has mowed down 
millions, and it will mow us down as 
well. And you may say, as much 
as you please, that it does not exist, 
it will remain all the same. Yonder 
it is.'' 

215 



I shall die. What is there terrible 
about that ? How many changes have 
taken place, and are now in progress, 
in my fleshly existence, and I have 
not feared them? Why should I 
fear this change which has not yet 
come, and in which there is nothing 
repulsive to my reason and ex- 
perience ; which is so comprehensi- 
ble, so familiar, and so natural for 
me, that during the whole course of 
my life I formed fancies in which 
the death both of lower animals 
and of persons have been 
accepted by me, as a necessary and 
often an agreeable condition of life. 
What is there terrible about it? 

For there are but two strictly 
logical ways of looking at life ; one 

216 



the false view — that by whicli life 
is understood as these seeming 
changes which take place in my 
body from my birth to my death ; 
the other the true view — that by 
which life is understood as the un- 
seen consciousness which is within 
myself. Both views are logical, and 
men may hold either one or the 
other : but in neither, held by itself 
is the fear of death consistent. 

The false view, which understands 
life as the visible changes in the 
body from birth to death, is as old 
as is the world itself. 

Although we think that we have 
just discovered this false view by 
our materialistic philosophy, we 
have only carried it so far that it 

217 



seems absurd. It finds expression 
among the Chinese, and among the 
Greeks. And among the Hebrews, 
the thought appears in the Book of 
Job, the oldest of all their books : 
" Dust thou art and to dust shalt 
thou return.'' 

This view, as held at present, 
may be thus expressed : " Life is a 
chance play of forces in matter, 
showing itself in space and time. 
Consciousness is the spark which 
flashes up from matter under certain 
conditions. All is the product of 
matter, infinitely varied ; and what 
is called life is only a certain con- 
dition of dead matter." 

Such is one way of looking at life. 
This view is utterly false. It con- 

218 



fuses life with its direct opposite, 
dead matter. From such a con- 
clusion, death should not be terrible, 
but life ought to be terrible, as 
something unnatural and senseless, 
as indeed it appears to the Buddh- 
ists, and to the new pessimists, like 
Schopenhauer and Hartmann. 

The other view of life is as fol- 
lows. Life is only that which I 
recognize in myself, when I meditate 
upon it. I am always conscious of 
my life, not as I have been, or as I 
shall be, but I am conscious of my 
life thus — that I am, that I never 
began anywhere, that I shall never 
end anywhere. And, according to 
this view, death does not exist. 

Neither as an animal only, nor as 

219 



a rational being only, can a man fear 
death ; the animal has no conscious- 
ness of life and does not see death ; 
and the rational being, having a 
consciousness of life, cannot see in 
death anything except a natural and 
never-ending change of matter. But, 
if man fears, w^hat he fears is not 
death, which he does not know, but 
life, that is, his animal existence 
with its chances, which he does 
know. That feeling, which is ex- 
pressed in men by the fear of death, 
is only the consciousness of the in- 
ward contradiction of life ; just as 
the fear of ghosts is merely the feel- 
ing of a deluded mind. 

There is a merely physical shrink- 
ing from death, due to the inherit- 

220 



ance of a desire to avoid it. Like 
the impulse to reproduction, this 
has strengthened itself out of pro- 
portion to other desires, because 
those men or beasts in which this 
desire was strongest were incited 
to the greatest exertions to avoid 
death. Succeeding, in a measure, 
they left offspring endowed with the 
same race-feelings. 

Those, on the other hand, which 
had little repulsion to death, earlier 
succumbed to attacks, and so, earlier 
ceased to multiply offspring. Even 
the offspring which they did leave 
more readily surrendered in the 
struggle for existence, thereby 
cutting of that branch of the 
family. 

221 



But, sucli a momentary, physical 
shrinking is not what tortures men, 
making them think of "a grim 
spectre," "a destroyer," and so on 
and so forth. 

Superstitious fear of death is not 
fear of death at all, but fear of a 
life after the throes of death, which 
life is imagined to be as unreason- 
able and inconsistent with the 
nature of Man and of God, as 
we have made this present life to 
be. 

" I shall cease to be, I shall die, 
all that in which I set my life 
will die," says one voice to a 
man. 

" I am," says another voice, ^^ and I 
cannot die, and I ought not to die. 

222 



I ought not to die, and I am 
dying." 

Not in death, but in this contra- 
diction lies the cause of the terror 
which seizes upon a man at the 
thought of death of the flesh : such 
fear of death lies not in the fact 
that man dreads the curtailment of 
his animal existence, but in the fact 
that it seems to him that that will 
die which cannot and must not die. 

Men are not terrified by the 
thought of the death of the flesh 
because they are afraid that the 
life will end with it, but because 
the death of the flesh plainly dem- 
onstrates to them the necessity of 
a true life, which they do not 
possess. 

223 



In such persons the fear of death 
always proceeds from the fear 
of losing their special self, which, 
they feel, constitutes their life. 
They think, " I shall die, my body 
will molder, and destroy my self." 

Men prize this self of theirs ; and, 
assuming that this self is the same 
as their fleshly life, they conclude 
that they must be annihilated 
with the destruction of fleshly 
life. 

But my self is only that which 
has lived in my body for so many 
years. 

Neither my body, nor the length 
of its existence, in any way deter- 
mines the life of my self. If I, every 
moment of my life, ask myself (in 

224 



my own mind) " Wliat am I ?" I 
reply: "Something thinking and 
feeling," that is, bearing itself to 
the world in its own peculiar 
fashion. 

But this self, which thinks and 
feels, had its origin, and began to 
take its character, thousands of 
years ago in my ancestors, and in 
that from which they sprung. 

It is continuous ; it began before 
my body was formed, and cannot 
then be a mere part of the body, 
which will end with it, or change 
with it. "I never was not, nor 
shall I hereafter cease to be." (Bdag- 
wat Gita.) 

Our body is not one, and the 
mind v/hich supposes this changing 

225 



body to be ours, and to be always 
the same, is not itself continuous, 
but is merely a series of states of 
consciousness. We Lave already, 
many times, lost both body and 
consciousness. We lose our body 
constantly ; at least once in every 
seven years it changes entirely, and 
we lose our consciousness every time 
we fall asleep. Every day and 
hour we feel in ourselves the altera- 
tion of this consciousness, and we do 
not fear it in the least. 

Hence, if there is any such thing 
as our self which we are afraid of 
losing at death, then that self can- 
not reside in the body which we 
call ours. 

What is this something which 

226 



binds in one all the states of con- 
sciousness whicli proceed in it, and 
which succeed each other hour 
by hour, but that fundamental 
Self? 

On this, as on a cord, are strung 
one after the other, the various con- 
sciousnesses which follow each other, 
day by day. This is our real self. 

It is that which says '^ Hove this, 
and I don't love that." 

Every being is separate. If I 
know a horse, a dog and a cow, and 
have any intelligent relations with 
them, I do not know them by their 
external marks, but by that peculiar 
relation to the world in which each 
one of them stands, by the fact that 
each one of them, and in its degree, 

227 



likes and dislikes, loves and does 
not love. 

This peculiar property of men, 
of loving one thing in a greater or 
less degree, and not loving another, 
is usually called character. 

The idea that the life consists 
neither of the perceptions of body 
only, nor of those of mind only, nor 
of the perception of body and mind 
combined, is becoming familiar to 
us, through the teaching of " Mental 
Scientists " as w^ell as through the 
new interest in the doctrines of 
Buddha and in theosophy. Neither 
mental nor '^ Christian " science, nor 
theosophy claims to be new, but 
only to be the distinct enunciation 
of great and world-old truths. 

228 



Consequently their teachers refer 
to the oldest sacred books for state- 
ments of the transcendent nature of 
man. 

Man fixes his eyes upon a small, 
insignificant bit of his life, does not 
wish to see all of it, and trembles 
lest this tiny fragment which is 
dear to him should be lost. The 
imaginary danger to an existence, 
which he totally misunderstands, 
becomes a real terror. This recalls 
the story of the madman who im- 
agined that he was made of glass, 
and who, when he was thrown 
down, said, '' Smash !'' and immedi- 
ately died. 

One who has entered into the 
knowledge of life knows that this 

229 



love of his to some^ and dislike to 
others^ wHcli lias been brought into 
his existence by himself, is the very 
essence of his life ; that this is not 
an accidental property of life, but 
that this alone has the essential of 
life, and he places his life only 
in this essential, the growth of 
love. 

He remembers that his relation 
to the world has changed, that his 
submission to the law of reason has 
increased. He remembers that the 
strength and scope of his love have 
grown constantly, giving him ever 
more and more happiness, quite in- 
dependent of his personal existence, 
and, sometimes, directly contrary to 
it, and even increasing in propor- 

230 



tion to the decrease of personal ex« 
istence. 

Sucli a man, having received his 
life from a past that is invisible to 
him, perceives its constant and nn- 
broken growth, and transfers it not 
only calmly but Joyfully to the un- 
seen future. 

My friend, my brother, has lived 
precisely like myself, and he has 
now ceased to live as I live. His 
life has been his consciousness, and 
it has been passed in a bodily exist- 
ence. My brother has been, I have 
had relation with him, but now he 
is not, and I do not know the 
place, if there is any place, where 
he is. 

" Nothing has been left behind " 

231 



— thus would speak a chrysalis, a 
cocoon, whicli had not yet released 
the butterfly, on seeing that a cocoon 
lying beside it has been left empty. 
But the cocoon might reasonably 
say this, if it could think and 
speak, because, on losing its neighbor 
it would, in reality, no longer feel it 
in any way. It is not thus with 
man. My brother has died ; his 
cocoon, it is true, has been left 
empty. I do not see him in the 
form in which I used to see him, 
but the fact that he has disappeared 
from my sight has not destroyed 
my relations with him. I retain, as 
the expression goes, "a remem- 
brance" of him. 

Not only a remembrance of his 



Aands, his face, his eyes, but also 
a remembrance of his spiritual form. 

The forms of crystals and of ani- 
mals disappear; no remembrance 
of them remains among crystals and 
the lower animals. 

This recollection of my brother is 
something which acts on me, and acts 
precisely as the life of my brother 
acted during his earthly existence. 
This remembrance demands of me 
now, after his death, what it de- 
manded of me during his lifetime. 
I cannot deny his life, because I am 
conscious of its power upon me. I 
may no longer see how he holds me, 
but I feel in all my being that he 
still holds me as before, and hence 
that he exists. 

233 



As Henry George said at the 
funeral of his co-worker Croasdale : 

" But that which we instinctively 
feel as more than matter^ and more 
than energy ; that which in thinking 
of our friend to-day we cherish as best 
and highest — that cannot be lost. 
If there be in the world order and 
purpose, that still lives." 

Christ died a very long time ago. 
His existence in the flesh was brief. 
We have no clear idea of his person ; 
but the power of his wise and 
loving life, his attitude tow^ard the 
world, and nothing else, acts to the 
present day upon millions, who take 
his mental attitude to themselves, 
and live according to it. What is 
it that acts ? What is it that was 



234 



formerly bound up with tlie exist- 
ence of Christ in the flesh, and 
which constitutes the continuation 
and the growth of this same life 
of his ? We say that it is not 
the life of Christ, but its results. 
And, having uttered these words, 
utterly destitute of meaning, it seems 
to us that we said something clearer 
and more definite than that this 
power is the living Christ himself. 

Surely, this is exactly the way in 
which ants might talk, while 
clustered about an acorn which has 
grown up, and become an oak. The 
oak tears up the soil with its roots, 
drops branches, leaves, and fresh 
acorns ; it screens from the light and 
the rain, changes everything that 

235 



formerly grew around it. ^^ This is 
not the life of the acorn," say the 
ants, ^^but the results of its life, 
which came to an end when we 
dragged off the acorn, and buried it 
in the ground." 

Every man who fulfills the law 
of life, submitting his animal person- 
ality to reason, and to the mani- 
festation of the power of love, has 
lived, and, after the disappearance of 
his corporal existence, will live 
through others with whom he is one. 

However contracted mav have 
been the sphere of man's activity, 
whether he be Christ or Socrates, a 
woman, an obscure, self-sacrificing 
old man, a youth — if he lives re- 
nouncing his personality for the 

236 



happiness of others, he has already 
entered here, in this life, upon that 
new relation to the world which is 
the real business of mankind. 

In order to save themselves from 
fear of death, some men try to 
assure themselves that the animal 
existence is their rational exist- 
ence, and that the immortality of 
the animal race of men satisfies the 
demand for immortality which they 
bear within them. But they can 
realize immortality only by compre- 
hending that life is that eternal 
movement v/hich in this life seems 
but as a wave. " As the swallow 
darting in and out of thy halls," said 
the heathen philosopher, "such, O 
King, is the life of man." 

237 



The great change in your position 
at the death of your body is terrible 
to you, but the same great change 
took place with you at your birth, 
and nothing bad came of it for you, 
but, on the contrary, so good a thing 
came of it that you do not wish to 
part with it at all. 

The visible life is a part of the 
endless movement of lifco 

Our true life exists ; we know 
it only ; from it we know the animal 
life, and that this semblance of the 
true life is subject to unchangeable 
laws ; why should not what happens 
in the invisible life itself be also 
subject to laws, and to the results 
of those laws ? 

But to complain because I cannot 

238 



iiow understand much that hap- 
pened before my present visible life, 
and that which will take place after 
my death, is the same as complain- 
ing because I cannot see what is be- 
yond the limits of my eyesight. 

"But," persists the troubled con- 
sciousness, " though I cease to fear 
death for myself, it takes my wife, 
my child, my friends ; this loss I 
cannot but feel and I miss them 
sorely. That is a grief. How is it 
possible I should not fear that ?" 

Note. — Is not all the ^^ mystery of life^^ 
like the mystery of the forest, ominous 
and dark, both in front of us and behind', 
but light enough for each one where he 
is? In truth, '^ the mystery of life ^' seems 
to consist in trying to see behind things 
up to which we have not yet come. — B. H. 

239 



Such grief, however, is but a re- 
fined form of selfishness. The re- 
membrance, the influence, in short, 
the ^^ spirit" of our dear ones is 
still with us, and still moves our 
thoughts and desires. It is but our 
individual gratification that we miss 
and lament. 

" That may be so," replies the err- 
ing consciousness again, ^^but it is 
the gratification of our noblest part, 
the affection ; such gratification 
feeds the very love of which you 
talk." 

"True," answers the higher reason, 
"but in love for all and in self- 
sacrifice on their behalf, instead of in 
gratification by their means, those 
affections will find a larger field. 

240 



In that larger love is happiness in- 
stead of regret." 

And the narrower our love the 
more pain we suffer from it; the 
largest love embraces, understands 
and forgives everything, and knows 
no disappointments, and no end. 



241 



VI. 

THE TEIUMPH OF LIFE. 

The apparent pnrposelessness of earthly 
suffering shows that this life of the person 
is not all of existence — Its true explana- 
tion lies in the connection between error 
and pain — Suffering is the spring of activ- 
ity — When we recognize it as the result of 
ill-doing in ourselves or in our fellow- 
beings^ and the guide and stimulus to 
cure the evil^ it ceases to be mysterious or 
terrible — There is a limit to the capacity 
for pain — To the unreflecting being even 
the memory of it is short-lived: and the 
developed mind can rise superior to it all, 
on seeing that it is necessary to prog- 
ress — It warns us also of the parting with 
the flesh, and develops in us the higher 
Life of Love — If the pain caused by the 
sufferings of others arouses in us efforts to 

242 



allay those sufferings, that activity dead- 
ens the pangs in us as well as in them, and 
allays despair — The conclusion is that the 
happiness for which we strive may be had 
by all of us when we recognize and submit 
to the higher law. 



The inexplicability of the suffer- 
ings of the earthly existence proves 
to man, more clearly than anything 
else could prove it, that his life is 
not a mere personality, which began 
at his birth and which ends at his 
death. 

Wolves rend a man who is alone 
in the forest ; or a man is drowned, 
frozen, or burned to death, or simply 
falls ill alone, and dies, and no one 
ever knows how he suffered. 
There are thousands of such cases. 

243 



Of what use can this suffering be 
to any one ? 

For the man who understands his 
life as an animal existence, there is 
not, and there cannot be, any answer 
to this question, because, for such a 
man, the bond between suffering 
and error lies only in what is visible 
to him, and this bond is utterly lost 
to his mental vision in the suffer- 
ings which precede death. 

To such a man, suffering is tor- 
ture ; but, in the natural order, suf- 
fering is only a sensation which 
calls forth activity ; the activity in 
turn banishes this painful sensa- 
tion and calls forth a state of 
pleasure. 

Suffering, therefore, is that which 

244 



moves life, and hence it is what 
should be ; then for what does man 
inquire when he asks : 

" Why, and to what end is suf- 
fering ?" 

The beasts do not ask this. 

When the perch, in consequence 
of hunger, torments the dace, when 
the spider tortures the fly, or the 
wolf devours the sheep, each is 
doing what must be, and each is 
accomplishing the very thing which 
must be fulfilled; and therefore, 
when the perch, and the spider, and 
the wolf fall into the like torments 
from those stronger than they, they 
resist, and wrench themselves away 
and flee, but they accept what 
they are doing as part of that which 

245 



must be done. In them ttere can- 
not be the slightest question that 
what is happening to them is pre- 
cisely that which must happen in 
the course of Nature. 

The depression and horror of 
death which seem to affect animals 
at the shambles may be due to their 
unnatural subjection to the power 
of pitiless intelligence. Such fear 
Caliban might reasonably have of 
Setebos. 

I perceive in my errors in the 
past, and in the errors of other peo- 
ple, the cause of my suffering, and 
if my efforts are not directed to 
the cause of the suffering — to the 
errors — and if I do not try to 
free myself from them, I neglect 

246 



that which should be done. There- 
fore suffering presents itself to me 
in a way in which it should not, 
and not only in imagination, but in 
fact, does it grow to frightful pro- 
portions, which exclude all possibil- 
ity of normal life. 

The cause of suffering to the ani- 
mal is the violation of the law of 
animal life; this violation makes 
itself known by pain, and the dis- 
turbance consequent on the violation 
of the law is directed to the re- 
moval of the cause of the pain. The 
cause of suffering to rational con- 
sciousness is also found in a viola- 
tion of law, and makes itself known 
by " sin," and the disturbance con- 
sequent on the violation of the law 

247 



is directed to the removal of the 
cause of the error — the " sin." As 
the suffering of the animal calls 
forth activity directed to remove its 
pain, and this activity deprives the 
pain of its torture, so the sufferings 
of a rational being call forth activ- 
ity directed to remove error, and 
this activity itself frees suffering 
from its horrors. All men know 
in the depths of their own souls 
that suffering is indispensable to 
the happiness of their lives, and 
they go on living, foreseeing it, or 
submitting to it. Nevertheless, they 
rebel against sufferings, because, 
with the false view of life, which 
demands happiness for their person- 
ality only, interference with this 

248 



happiness appears as something 
unnatural, and therefore disturbing. 

Pain in the brute and in the child 
is very well defined, and slight in 
intensity, never attaining to that 
anguish v^hich it reaches in beings 
endowed with rational consciousness. 
In the case of the child, we see that 
he sometimes cries as piteously 
from the sting of a wasp, as from 
an injury which destroys the inter- 
nal organs. 

And the pain of a being which 
does not reason leaves no trace 
whatever in the memory. Let any 
one endeavor to recall his childish 
sufferings from pain, and he will see 
that he is even incapable of recon- 
structing them in his imagination. 

249 



The impression made on us by tlie 
sight of the suffering of children 
and of brutes is our suffering more 
than theirs. 

Before the rational consciousness 
has been awakened, pain serves 
only as a protection to the person, 
and is not acute. 

Not to mention the martyrs, not 
to mention the troops who sang in 
the fire at the stake, like Huss, 
simple men, merely out of a desire 
to exhibit courage, endure without 
a cry or a quiver, what are consid- 
ered the most torturing of opera- 
tions. There are limits to the pain, 
but to the diminution of sensation 
under it there is no limit. 

For persons who think their 

250 



life lies in tlie existence of the flesh, 
the anguish of pain is really fright- 
ful. Yet, if the gods had created 
us without the feeling of pain, we 
would very soon have begun to beg 
for it ; for, women free from pains 
of childbirth, would have brought 
forth children under conditions 
where hardly any would have re- 
mained alive ; children and young 
people would have spoiled their 
bodies, and grown people w^ould 
have known neither the errors of 
those who had lived before them, 
nor, what is most important of all, 
their own errors. In this life they 
would have had no rational object 
of existence, for they would not 
have known what they must do : 

251 



they could never have reconciled 
themselves to the idea of impending 
death in the flesh, and they would 
not have known love, because they 
would have had little opportunity 
for its exercise. 

Were there no pain, man would 
have no indication when he had 
transgressed the laws of nature. If 
rational consciousness suffered no 
pain, man would not know the law, 
that is to say, would not know the 
Truth. 

^^But," some retort, "you are 
talking about your personal suffer- 
ings, but how can you reject the 
sufferings of others ?" The sight of 
these sufferings constitutes the most 
acute suffering. 

252 



This they say, not in full sincerity. 

For sympathy is really a health- 
ful and natural emotion. If, in con- 
sequence of it, we do nothing, we 
create a morbid state of our minds, 
such as is common among women 
who read many novels. If, how- 
ever, we bend every energy and 
exert every power to relieve the 
suffering which appeals to us, sym- 
pathy with it ceases to be a pain. 
We feel even a pleasure in our 
activity, and in its partial success in 
relieving the suffering, and yet more 
in remedying the evil which causes it. 
Above all, we find that it calls forth 
in ourselves, even if not in others, 
the feeling of Love. 

Activity directed to the immedi- 

253 



ate, loving service of the suffering 
and to the diminution of error, 
whicli is the general cause of suffer- 
ing, is the only joyful labor which 
lies before man, and gives him that 
happiness in which life consists. 

No claim of novelty is made for 
this teaching. It is that of Chris- 
tianity — of the Christianity of the 
Sermon on the Mount, as distin- 
guished from that of the Council of 
Mcea. It virtually says to us: 
" Renounce your selfish ends ; love 
all men, all creatures, and devote 
your life to them. You will then 
be conscious of possessing the joy 
of the Spirit, and true life, which is 
eternal, and to you there will be no 
death." 

254 



CONCLUSION. 

The life of man is a striving 
after happiness, and that for which 
he strives is given to enlightened 
man. 

Evil, in the form of death and 
suffering, is visible to man only when 
he takes the law of his corporeal 
animal existence for the law of his 
life. Only when he, being a man, 
redescends to the level of the beast, 
does he even see death and suffer- 
ing. 

Happiness is to be found in the 
service of our fellow creatures, 

255 



through which we come to be one 
with the mind of the Universe. It 
does not depend upon what success 
we may see in this service. The 
effort to remove the causes of the 
sufferings of others and especially to 
enable them to think rightly, so that 
they may themselves avoid evil, is 
in itself a joy. 

Death and suffering are only 
crimes committed by man against 
the law of life in himself or in others. 
For a man who lives according to 
his law, there is no death and no 
suffering. 

^^Oh death, where is thy sting? 
Oh grave, where is thy victory?^' 



256 



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